


Return

by ReedusFan



Category: Boondock Saints (Movies)
Genre: Angst, Child Abuse, Drugs, Explicit Language, Hurt/Comfort, Kidnapping, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-08-18
Updated: 2017-09-13
Packaged: 2017-12-23 22:22:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 18
Words: 50,796
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/931732
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ReedusFan/pseuds/ReedusFan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Murphy disappeared without a trace when he was 10 years old.  Six years later and Connor & Ma are still searching for him, still heartbroken, still desperate to find him.  A teenage boy who looks eerily like Murphy is finally identified as possibly being the missing youth, but is it him?  What has he been through?  And can they help him heal?  This story contains graphic language & adult situations.  There will be a shifting timeline as well.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Heartache

Connor MacManus sat listening to his mother on the phone, hearing the quiver in her voice, seeing the tears stream down her cheeks, watching her break down once again. And once again, he was powerless to stop it. He’d give anything to go back in time to that fateful day almost six years ago, the day that changed everything, the day he wished had never happened. The day he had failed his brother.

He should have been there, by Murphy’s side, where he belonged. If he had been there, Murphy would be home right now, safe and sound. But Murphy was gone in the blink of an eye and Connor didn’t know how to find him, or where. He hadn’t been able to protect his twin, his best friend, his other half. He should have been there.

But he hadn’t been there when it mattered most, when Murphy needed him most desperately.....when Murphy had been alone and vulnerable, probably terrified beyond belief. When someone had taken him away to only God knows where. Connor was supposed to protect Murphy, watch out for him, make sure he didn’t get hurt. But he had failed. And for that, he’d never forgive himself.....he just couldn’t.

So he sat listening to his Ma on the phone, feeling the pain radiating from her soul.

“It’s been almost six years. I don’t know if I can talk about it again & not lose my mind,” she quietly confessed, turning away from Connor in an attempt to shield him from her agony. “My heart breaks more every day that I’m without him. The pain is unbearable.”

Connor saw his mother’s shoulders slump & she nodded, quietly accepting whatever words were said on the other end of the phone. “What is it that you’re asking?” 

She sighed, relenting, her voice suddenly sounding flat. “Fine, I’ll be there within an hour.”

Annabelle MacManus hung up the phone, her hand lingering on the receiver as she composed herself before turning to her oldest twin. “Get your coat, Connor. The police want to talk with us again.”

Annabelle knew better than to leave without Connor, she had tried that in the beginning, to spare him whatever horror he might be exposed to. But she learned quickly that the horror he imagined was just as terrifying, just as haunting, just as damaging as the reality of the situation. So she decided that he needed to know anything and everything that happened, good and bad.

The problem was, there was nothing to be known. Nothing. Not one thing was found in the nearly six years that had passed. No sightings, no evidence, no trace.

No Murphy.

Annabelle & Connor were ushered into an interrogation room, Detective Ron Jennings joining them without delay, passing coffee to the woman & hot chocolate to the boy. They had grown to know each other over the past six years, in a way that no person should have to get to know the other, in circumstances no parent should have to endure. In her eyes he saw the raw emotion & undeniable pain and he dropped his head briefly before looking into her son’s eyes, seeing the exact same look, the exact same pain, the exact same sense of loss. Mother and son waited patiently for the detective to begin.

It always started the same, the detective’s words gentle, reassuring. “I haven’t given up. I’ll never give up until I find him.”

She nodded, “I remember your promise, Ron.” They had been on a first name basis for the past 6 years, it seemed ridiculous to be otherwise, seeing as their lives had become so intertwined.

Ron thumbed a folder that was full of papers, its edges worn from time, his hesitation hanging in the air. Annabelle knew that folder and what was inside.....the story of her son, his disappearance, her Murphy. She held her breath as he opened the folder, and she bit her lip as a single tear ran down her cheek.

“Ma, please don’t cry,” Connor quietly begged, his voice shaky & quiet. She turned to look at him, seeing his eyes also filling with tears, his struggle to not cry unsuccessful as hot tears leaked down his cheeks.

She reached up & brushed away his tears, leaning in to kiss him on his forehead, knowing his pain was equal to her own. After all, Connor was Murphy’s fraternal twin brother & he missed him just as desperately. And for the past six years, she had listened to Connor cry himself to sleep every single night, his pain unrelenting, torturous and still raw. Connor was lost without Murphy.

Annabelle took Connor’s hand in her own, lacing their fingers together, and she nodded to the detective, giving consent. Ron turned the page & Annabelle’s eyes dropped to the folder, knowing what she would see but unable to stop herself from looking.

Murphy.....

Her smiling 10 year old son looked back at her through time, his smile just as brilliant and beautiful as the day that picture was taken.

Murphy.....

His blue eyes had a mischievous glint and Annabelle smiled through the tears, remembering that when the picture had been snapped, Murphy had just soaked his brother with a water balloon that he had hidden behind his back. He had been so proud of himself at that moment, he rarely got away with tricking Connor, but this time he had succeeded, and his face was beaming with pride.

Murphy.....

The little boy who broke into a fit of giggles right after that moment was frozen on film, unable to contain himself any longer. He was a beautiful child, a ten year old little pissant, and he was hers. But that was long ago.

Her smile faded as she glanced at his twin brother. Connor had grown a lot in the past 6 years & he was turning 16 in a couple weeks.....as was Murphy. Only Murphy was frozen in time on film, his smile one of a young child, not a young man. Connor was shaving, his shoulders had broadened, his body grew. Connor had long ago put away the toys of childhood. But Murphy remained in her memory as a 10 year old little boy, unchanged, small and innocent.

Annabelle couldn’t help but wonder what her Murphy would look like now, how he had changed, how similar he & Connor would look and act. If he still had the same smile.

Connor turned to his mother, his eyes narrowed with conviction. “He’s alive, Ma.”

She nodded, not entirely convinced, even though every fiber of her being wanted to believe her son.

Connor continued, his voice now steady & filled with certainty. “I’m his twin brother, I can feel it. He’s alive, Ma, he is. We just have to find him.”

Annabelle thought back six years, thought back to when her children were young, thought back to the day her baby disappeared, to the day when Murphy was taken away from her. From them.

And she began to cry.


	2. Hope

It seemed like just yesterday.

Annabelle had sent her boys to school that day with a kiss on their cheeks, watching them from the window as they walked away from their home, pushing & kicking each other, laughing and waving to her before they rounded the corner. She hadn’t known then that this would be the last glimpse of Murphy that she would see.

Hours later the police were at her door, a wailing Connor in the squad car, his face drenched in tears, his hysterical sobbing heard through the closed car window. Did she know where her son was, had Murphy come home, did she have any idea where he could be? And the scariest question of all, did she know of anyone who would want to hurt him?

That’s when her world turned upside down, her sense of safety evaporated and time seemed to stop dead in its tracks. She couldn’t think, she couldn’t move.....she couldn’t breathe. One of her children was missing. Her baby was gone.

It had been Murphy’s turn to put away the schoolyard equipment, the balls, the jump ropes, the toys. Connor wanted to help, he’d even started to pick up some balls when the teacher scolded him. It was Murphy’s turn, not Connor’s, and Murphy was to do it himself.

“I’m fine, Connor. I can do it,” Murphy quietly insisted in a soft voice. “I’m not a baby, you know.”

“I know, Murph,” Connor said gently. “I just thought it’d be faster with the two of us doing it, s’all.”

“But it’s my turn, I’m s’posed to do it myself. You’ll just get us both in trouble if you stay & help me.”

Connor knew Murphy was right. If he stayed, they’d both face discipline, the school might even send a note home to Ma. But for some reason, Connor felt like he should stay with his brother. It didn’t make sense, but he didn’t want to leave him alone. But Murphy was giving him "the look," the look that said he was fine, quit babying him, he’d only be a few minutes behind Connor.

So while the other students filed into the school, Connor reluctantly joined them, leaving Murphy alone outside to begin the chore. With a final look over his shoulder at his dark-haired twin, Connor waved to Murphy who smiled & waved back.

But 15 minutes later, Murphy still hadn’t returned to class & the teacher had gone looking for him. What she found was the schoolyard equipment scattered across the playground, untouched, nothing put away. And Murphy was simply gone.

The principal questioned Connor, thinking this was a usual MacManus trick, but quickly realized from his frantic crying that this was no trick. They quickly searched the school grounds but found nothing. That’s when they called the police.

The entire community searched for Murphy throughout the night and into the following weeks. Television crews set up in their front yard & she and Connor gave hundreds of interviews, begging for any information on Murphy, pleading with whoever took him to just let him come home. The days blended into the next, one long unending nightmare that neither mother nor son could wake from. Days turned into weeks and weeks turned into months with no trace of the missing boy. Finally, the tv crews slowly left one by one & the community moved on.

But Annabelle & Connor didn’t move on. They still looked, still hoped, still prayed through sleepless nights, gallons of tears & unending heartache. They’d never give up on Murphy, not ever.

Detective Jennings also refused to give up. Long after his colleagues told him he was wasting his time, that the boy would never be found, he was a lost cause, he still refused to give up. This was a good family, a loving family, and he wouldn’t give up on them until he found Murphy MacManus. He promised them that very first night that he’d never stop looking. And every night since, he prayed he would find the child alive.

Every week since Ron Jennings made that promise, he’d take out the MacManus file & he’d look at that missing child, he’d look into those blue eyes, he’d review the facts and try to uncover new leads. And every month he phoned his mother, telling her he hadn’t given up on her boy, he never would.....but no, he was sorry, there was nothing new to report. And every month, he listened to her cry.

Now a long six years had passed, time had marched on, and still they had no trace of Murphy. He was just.....gone. But Ron Jennings wasn’t about to give up, no matter how much time had passed, he’d never give up, not until he brought Murphy home to his mother & brother.

“Annabelle, Connor. I have something to talk to you about,” Ron began, snapping Annabelle back from her torturous thoughts. “I’m sorry I didn’t consult you first. I should have asked your permission, but.....”

Annabelle wiped her face with her shaky hand, “Ron, please. You don’t have to consult with me about anything you do to find my Murphy.”

Ron nodded, pausing. “Thank you, I appreciate your faith.” He took a deep breath & continued, “I met with someone recently, a kind of sketch artist.”

Neither MacManus responded, they sat quietly waiting for the detective to explain how a sketch artist could help them find Murphy when there had been no witnesses, no suspects & no leads.

“Well actually, more than a sketch artist if truth be told. This woman does amazing work, it’s called age progression. Have you heard of it?”

Annabelle shook her head no but Connor responded, “Isn’t that where they take a picture of someone when they were young & make a drawing of them looking older?”

“That’s exactly what she does. With incredible results.”

Annabelle leaned forward in her chair, her eyes flickering with something Ron hadn’t seen in a very long time. It was hope.

“Would she be able to do that for Murphy? To age him from 10 to 16?” She held her breath, waiting for an answer, praying he would say yes. She didn’t have to wait long.

“Yes, she’d be able to do that for Murphy. In fact, I took the liberty of giving her his pictures, as well as pictures of both you & Connor.”

“Why us?” Connor asked, confused.

Ron explained that family resemblance would play a large part in determining how a 16 year old Murphy would look. And there’d be no stronger family resemblance than Connor, his fraternal twin brother.

Annabelle dropped her head, her voice shaky as she spoke. “I don’t care how much it costs. I’ll mortgage my house to pay her, Ron. Just please have her do the picture. Please.”

Ron reached out & covered her hands with his, bending his head to look into her eyes. “Annabelle.....she doesn’t want any money. She heard about Murphy years ago and she remembers you & Connor from tv. All she wants is to help find Murphy. She won’t take any payment of any kind.”

Connor wrapped his arms around his mother as her body shook with sobs, burying his head into her shoulder. She reached up & clutched tightly to her son, kissing his head. “She’s an angel from Heaven, that’s what she is. An angel sent here to help us find your brother.”

“Aye, Ma, that she is,” Connor whispered through his tears.

Annabelle looked up at the detective, a small smile of gratitude on her face. “Thank you, Ron.”

He returned her smile, “I just want to find your son, Annabelle. The pictures we have of Murphy aren’t really useful anymore. We need a picture of what he might look like now, not from when he was 10. I’ll be releasing his picture to the media & I promise you, I’ll have his face everywhere. It’ll be on tv, in the newspapers, in stores. Everywhere.”

“How long will it take her to do the picture?” Connor quietly asked. He always had to have a plan, a time frame, details.

“It’s already done.”

“It’s done?” both Connor & Annabelle said in unison, excitement in their blended voices.

“Yes,” Ron answered, his hand patting Murphy’s file that rested on the table. “I have it in this folder.”


	3. Trapped

Murphy woke up alone, face down on the dirt floor, his limbs sprawled in all directions. He was cold, chilled to the bone, although his body was not shaking just from the cold temperature. He was scared.....sooo scared.

He sat up slowly, looking around with terrified eyes, tears welling up & clouding his vision. His chin quivered as tears began to run down his face, leaving streaks down his cheeks. He tasted blood & the side of his face throbbed, pounding in time to the fast beat of his heart. He lifted his hand to his cheek, wincing at the pain his soft touch caused, that was where the big man first hit him.....in the playground.

He tried to stand, his legs rubbery & almost unable to hold his weight, but somehow he managed to get to his feet. That’s when he noticed his clothes had been removed, he was wearing only his briefs, even his socks were missing. He licked his lips, tasting more blood, and he ran the back of his hand across his mouth, bright red blood covering his fingers. The second hit from the man had been a backhand across his face & he remembered biting his lip when he was struck.

Murphy barely remembered the third hit, it got blurry after the second hit to his face, but he knew the third one had come in the car as they were racing away from the school. Away from Connor. That hit knocked him out cold & he hadn’t woken up until just a few minutes ago.

His eyes scanned his surroundings, desperately darting around the room, sensing the danger he was in. Dirt floor, no windows, a dirty blanket, stairs leading up, one lone light on the ceiling. Stairs.....leading up.....stairs.....to freedom.

His mind screamed GO! and his legs took flight.

Murphy ran up the 10 steps, a wooden double door was over the top of the stairs, blocking his escape. He reached up & pushed against it. He was pretty sure he was in some sort of root cellar & the earthy, musty smell filled his nose as he felt the door give a bit. It was heavy & he pushed with all the strength he had in his 10 year old body.

There was a rattle of a chain and the door opened, but only slightly, and he felt the cool rush of fresh air hit his face as a sliver of sunlight appeared through the opening. He pushed his shoulder into the door, holding it open as he wormed his hand through the tight opening, his fingers feeling the rusty chain looped around the handles of the door. He pushed as hard as he could but the door refused to budge. He tried to push more than his hand out the opening, but the opening was too small & he pulled his hand back inside, the wood digging into his skin, causing long bleeding streaks.

The door thumped closed, shutting out the sun, and he stood there for a moment, listening for any sound at all, but hearing nothing. He slowly walked back down the steps, not knowing what to do, and he stood in place, feeling more alone than he had ever felt in his life. He wasn’t used to being without Connor, he always had Connor nearby, usually within earshot, but now.....he was on his own & that scared him.

He was shaking harder & he moved to the far corner, sitting in the dirt, his back pressed against the wall. He drew his legs close to his chest & he wrapped his arms around his legs, pressing his forehead into his knees. Tears started again as he rocked in place, begging God for help. Please.

He tried not to cry.....he tried to be brave. He was a big boy, he was 10.....but he was terrified. And alone without his twin.

He wanted his mom. He wanted Connor. He wanted to go home where it was safe, where they both were.....he just wanted to go home.

The loud rattle of the chain. The door pulled open. Heavy footsteps down the stairs.

Murphy lifted his head & squinted against the light that filtered into the room, the big man looking even bigger from his position on the floor as the man towered over him, his face dark as the light shone behind him.

“Get up, boy,” the man commanded as Murphy cowered, trying to make himself as small as possible. “I said get up!”

When Murphy didn’t move, the man reached for him, grabbing his thin arm in a bruising grip, roughly pulling him to his feet as his fingers dug into his flesh.

“When I tell you to do something, boy, you fucking do it. Do you understand!?” Then he shook Murphy. Hard.

Murphy felt his head snap back & he closed his eyes tight, expecting another hit from the burly man. But the hit didn’t come, instead he was shoved to the ground, his knees slamming into the dirt, small pebbles grinding into his skin.

The man took a step back & Murphy scrambled across the floor away from him, stopping when he felt the cold wall against his back, finding it oddly comforting as he squatted in the dirt. He looked up at the man, still unable to see his face.

Murphy thought about running, he might be able to get around the man & up the stairs before he could grab him, he might be able to get out. But before he could make a move, a woman slowly came down the stairs, her eyes glued to the frightened child, a strange smile forming on her lips.

The man backed up as the woman approached, and she passed a paper plate & cup to the man. The man was now blocking the stairs with his body & Murphy knew that opportunity for freedom had passed, he’d never get past him.

The woman moved closer to the boy, being careful not to make any sudden moves, drawing his attention away from the man guarding the stairs. She mimicked his position & squatted in front of him, her smile wider as she cocked her head, examining his face. Murphy’s back was against the wall, he couldn’t back up any further, he was trapped.....his lip quivered again as he tried not to cry, his blue eyes filling with tears as he stared at her.

“He’s scared,” she softly said, “You scared him.”

The man sounded condescending as he mumbled back, “Of course he’s scared. Did you really think he wouldn’t be scared?”

She ignored his response & reached for Murphy, her hand trying to touch his face. Murphy flinched away from her before her fingers could make contact, dropping his head & staring at her through his dark eyelashes as tears leaked from his eyes.

She lowered her hand & quietly said, “You hit him too hard. He’s bleeding. And he’ll bruise.”

“I had no choice. He fought me,” the man reported, his voice flat & cold, annoyed. “He got what he deserved.”

“He’s so little. You didn’t have to hit him that hard,” she scolded, looking over her shoulder at the man. “I told you not to hurt him.”

Murphy chanced a glance at the man, finally able to see his face, see his angry scowl as his eyes turned to the huddled boy on the floor. Murphy felt ice cold fear course through his body & he quickly looked away as the woman turned back to study him once again.

Her attention focused on the small, shivering boy in front of her, her voice soothing. “It’s okay.....I won’t hurt you, sweetheart. I bet you’re hungry.....aren’t you?”

The man passed the paper plate & cup to the woman & Murphy’s eyes darted to her hands, watching as she placed them in the dirt directly in front of him, seeing a sandwich & a red liquid in the cup.

“Peanut butter and jelly,” she said with a raise of her eyebrows. She pushed the plate toward him & paused. “Come on.....I know you’re hungry.”

He didn’t want to eat anything she brought him but he was so hungry. He thought about it & decided it was better he eat what was given to him, he didn’t know if they’d give him anything else again, and he needed his strength if he was going to find a way home to Ma & Connor.

He reached for the sandwich, taking it from the plate & he slowly brought it to his mouth as they both watched him, the man scowling, the woman smiling. He took a small bite, thinking it tasted odd, but he quickly swallowed it and took another bite before they could take it away from him. 

“He’s so darling. He’s just perfect,” she quietly said as she pushed the cup toward him with that same creepy smile & he felt a shiver run up his spine. “I hope you like cherry.”

He wanted the drink, he knew he needed the drink, he could feel how dry his mouth was. He took the cup in his shaking hand & he took a few sips, thinking she didn’t put enough sugar in the drink, it was bitter.

He finished the sandwich as quickly as he could, in silence, being closely watched the entire time. He drank the last of the cherry drink just as quickly, even though it wasn’t sweetened enough, and his eyes watched them watch him. They stared at each other for what felt to Murphy like forever, no one moving, no one speaking.

Murphy felt tired & weak, and he struggled to keep his eyes open. He felt his eyes blinking slowly & he looked down at his hand, noticing that his shaking had stopped, even though he was still terrified. His head felt funny & a soft moan escaped his lips.

The woman shifted, moving to sit in front of him & she held her hand out. “Give me the cup,” she commanded softly. “Come on, give your mother the cup.”

Murphy lifted his eyes to the woman, what had she said? He was trying to figure out why there was three of her in front of him, why everything was moving so slowly, why he felt so weird. His tongue felt thick and he tried to form words, his voice soft. “Yo-ou err not m-m-my mmmmaaa.”

He could barely understand his own slurred words, his voice sounded strange, like it was far away, or under water. He didn’t understand why his mouth suddenly stopped working, and he slumped against the wall, feeling warm all over.

Murphy felt her hand take the cup from his light grip, her fingers brushing against his skin, placing the cup in the dirt. “That’s it, that’s a good boy, now.”

She pushed his hair from his eyes and he moaned softly, forming only one word. “nnnnnooooo.”

“Don’t talk back to your mother,” she scolded, and she wrapped her arm around his shoulders, pulling him away from the wall, taking him in her arms. His head lolled onto her shoulder & she stroked his hair as she began to softly hum. He wanted to lift his hand & push her away but he had no strength, he couldn’t even open his mouth to speak. He tried to stay awake, but he felt his eyes closing & he couldn’t stop it.

“That’s it, you just sleep now. You’ve had a big day, haven’t you? But you’re finally home with your mom and I’ll never let you go.”

The last thing he was aware of was the kiss she placed on his head.


	4. Wake Up

“He’s waking up. If I don’t give him something now, it’ll be harder to get him to take it later,” the big man loudly warned, not even attempting to be quiet.

“No. I want to see how he does. It’s been long enough, maybe he’ll behave himself this time,” came the female reply, her voice much softer than the man’s. “I’m tired of him being all drugged up. Let’s see if he’s a good boy before we give him more.”

The man scoffed, “The little fucker better not bite me again.”

“He won’t. He’ll be good for his mom,” she confidently said, sitting on the bed next to the child, her hand stroking the side of his face tenderly. “Won’t you?”

Murphy struggled to open his eyes, they felt like sandpaper and his head was pounding, the thumping loud in his ears like a bass drum, thump, thump, thump. He thought he heard his Ma say to be good, he always tried to be good, it was Connor’s fault when he wasn’t. Connor always got him in trouble.

“Come on, open your eyes for your mom. That’s it.”

His eyelids fluttered as he tried to keep his eyes from rolling to the back of his head, focusing on his Ma, on her voice that sounded strangely different for some reason. Her hand felt nice on his face though, she was stroking his skin softly and Murphy liked the way it felt.

“Ma?” Murphy croaked, his throat parched, his voice shaky and weak.

“I told you to call me Mom, not Ma,” came the terse reply, the hand leaving his cheek as his eyes finally settled on the woman next to him. He inhaled sharply, suddenly wide awake & full of fear, instantly recognizing her from the root cellar. He sat up & moved away from her, toward the other side of the bed, but he stopped when he noticed the big man was standing there. He had nowhere to go, they were on both sides of him.....he had nowhere to go. Tears quickly filled his eyes & he bit his lip as his body began to tremble.

The woman took a deep breath as she studied him, glancing briefly at the big man before turning her attention back to the boy on the bed. She leaned forward, her hand reaching out to him as she waited to see if he would put his hand in hers. She patiently watched him, her hand extended in the air, as he stared back at her through tear filled eyes, unmoving.

Murphy wanted to bite her, and if she got close enough, he would bite her as hard as he could. It seemed like he bit her before though, he remembered biting someone.....it had to be her. No.....it wasn’t her he bit.....it was him, the big man. Murphy remembered biting the big man’s arm, his teeth clamping onto his flesh with all his strength, trying to take a chunk out of his arm. He remembered the man yelling in pain, he remembered being called a fucking brat, and he remembered being thrown into a wall.

The woman lowered her hand, the creepy smile on her face once again, her eyes barely blinking. “I’m thinking I might have to give you a haircut soon. My little boy has hair that grows so fast.” Her hand moved to his hair, pushing it from his eyes. He didn’t flinch, he didn’t resist, he didn’t bite. He was too scared to move, all he could do was shake.

“I know you don’t like having your hair cut, but it’s about time for a trim whether you like it or not.”

Tears ran down his face as she pulled away from him, his lip trembling & sticking out in a pout. He didn’t like her touching him, her touch felt creepy, it felt wrong. And he didn’t want her cutting his hair either, his Ma had just cut his hair a couple days ago so he didn’t understand why this woman wanted to cut it again.

“Stop crying. You’re too old to cry over a haircut,” she chastised with a stern look, her voice equally firm. When Murphy didn’t stop crying, when his tears continued to run from his eyes, the woman looked past him, to the big man.

The man’s voice was loud & unforgiving and it held a hint of a promise. “Stop crying boy or I’ll give you something to cry about.”

But Murphy couldn’t stop crying, he tried, but he couldn’t stop. He rubbed at his eyes with the palm of his hand but the tears continued. He bit his lip between his teeth, trying to distract himself with pain, but the tears continued. He even thought of how he wanted to be brave, just to make Connor proud, but the tears continued.  
Murphy expected to be hit. He waited for the blow to come, he waited for the pain to begin. But it didn’t.

Instead, the man took a step back while the woman stared at him, her features suddenly softening as a smile again formed on her face. Her smile scared him, he couldn’t tell what she was thinking when she smiled like that.

“I bought my little boy some new clothes yesterday. Now you wait here with your father & I’ll go get them.” She stood & moved to the door, pausing & looking back at him, “I just know you’ll like what I bought you.”

Then she was gone. She left him alone with the big man. The big man who was glaring at him.

Murphy didn’t want to look at him, he was too fucking scary. So instead, he tried to distract himself by looking at the room he was in. It was obviously a boys room, he noticed trucks & action figures scattered on the floor and on the desk he saw a scattering of crayons & coloring books. The sheets on the bed were Spiderman, as were the pajamas he was wearing, and he wondered whose room this was.

He was puzzled as he looked around. He’d never been here before, but everything seemed familiar and he didn’t know how that was possible. He looked at the desk & he just knew the coloring book was zoo animals, he knew it. And he was certain that the desk drawers contained comic books, too. He didn’t have to look, he knew they were there.

The big man kicked at a truck that was on the floor, growling “You need to learn to put your toys away. When you’re done playing, they’re to be put in the toybox where they belong.”

Murphy had never seen the toybox before but he knew it was in the far corner, and it was green with lions painted on it. He held his breath as he looked to the corner, his eyes widening at what he saw. There it was, the green toybox with lions painted on it. But how did he know?

“I want to go home,” he quietly begged, he didn’t like it here, not one bit.

“You are home,” came the cheery response from the woman as she returned, her arms full of clothes. “And your mom bought you some new clothes to wear.”

She placed the clothes on the bed & motioned to him, wanting him off the bed. But Murphy couldn’t move, he was frozen in place, sitting there crying in the Spiderman pajamas. She put her hands on her hips & looked to the big man.

Murphy’s eyes went to the man, watching him take a step forward, his movements slow, his mere presence terrifying. Murphy knew if the man reached him before he was off the bed, he’d be in a lot of trouble. And a lot of pain. The man took another step toward the child who was practically cowering, and Murphy winced as he began to move, sliding his legs over the side of the bed. His body felt stiff & sore, his ribs ached & it hurt to take a deep breath. But at least the man stopped moving toward him.

Murphy looked down & that’s when he noticed the straps on the bed. There was a large leather strap across the foot of the bed & one at the headboard. He stared at the straps, seeing the leather loops that would go around a person’s ankles & wrists, tying that person down. Tying him down. 

His eyes moved to his wrists, shocked at the raw red marks on his skin, seeing the matching marks around his ankles. He had been tied down, it had probably hurt.....but he didn’t remember any of that. But there was the proof, the abrasions on his body that he couldn’t deny.

The woman kneeled in front of him, placing her hands on his knees, staring up into his face. He wouldn’t look at her though, and she couldn’t make him look either. He didn’t know why this was happening to him, what had he done wrong?

“You wouldn’t be hurt if you weren’t so stubborn,” she said, like it was his fault they tied him to the bed. “You gave us no choice, we had to tie you down, to keep you safe. I’m your mom, I only want what’s best for you.”

Murphy thought about his real mom, she’d never tie him to a bed, not for any reason, no matter how bad he was. His real mom took care of him, she was the one who loved him. Not this woman calling herself his mom, not her.

“You’re not my M-Ma,” Murphy mumbled, tears suddenly cascading down his face as he began to sob, his words in bursts as fear took hold. “I-I wa-ant t-to go-go h-o-ome. I-I wa-ant my-my Ma and-nd C-Con-nor.”

“I told you it was too soon,” the big man mumbled from behind Murphy. “He’s not ready to be off it yet.”

“He just needs a little time to adjust. It’s a big change for him, but eventually he’ll accept what we tell him. We just have to be patient with our boy, he’ll come around.”

The big man sighed loudly and resigned himself to do what the woman wanted, grabbing Murphy by the collar of his pajamas & lifting him to his feet. Murphy practically fell to the floor, his legs were weak, but the man held him in place.

The woman stood in front of the pair, motioning to the clothing that waited on the bed. “Those are the clothes I want him to wear. Once he’s dressed, bring him downstairs & we’ll have a nice family lunch.” She began to move away but paused, adding as an afterthought, “And try not to hit him again.”

Then she was gone & the big man pushed Murphy to the floor, tossing the clothing to the floor in front of him, kicking it with his dirty boot. “Playtime is over, boy. Get dressed.”

Murphy’s hands were on the floor in front of him & the man placed his boot over the boy’s right hand, pinning his fingers underneath. He pressed downward, grinding the boot into the boy’s knuckles, causing him to whimper in pain. Murphy’s other hand went to the man’s ankle, trying to make him stop, his small fingers scratching at his leg desperately.

“Fucking hurts, doesn’t it boy?”

Murphy pressed his shoulder against the man’s leg, trying to alleviate the pressure on his hand, trying to stop the crushing pain. Without warning, the man removed his boot & stepped back, watching the boy’s reaction. Murphy pulled his hand away & clutched it to his body, his head down, rocking in place. His hand throbbed but he didn’t think it was broken, although if the man wanted to, he could have easily fractured the bones.

“That’s a warning not to fuck around. You do what I fucking say, boy. Now I’m going for a smoke & when I get back you better be dressed. Understand?”

Murphy didn’t look up, he didn’t respond in any way. He kept his head down & waited. He waited for the man to walk away, to shut the door & leave.

But instead of leaving, the man grabbed a fistful of Murphy’s hair & pulled his head back painfully, making Murphy look at him. The man’s face was red & the vein in his forehead was bulging underneath his skin as he leaned into the boy’s face. Murphy almost gagged. The man was so close that Murphy could smell his body odor.....the man smelled of 3 day old sweat & unwashed socks. But as bad as the man’s body smelled, his breath was worse, like a mixture of cigars, stale beer and a crate full of onions.

“You little fuck. Answer me when I talk to you.”

Murphy didn’t know the question, he didn’t know what to say. He stared at the man, his mind replaying the last thing he had said. ‘Understand?’

The man pulled back his hand & planted his feet, readying himself to hit the boy.

“I-I understand,” Murphy quietly said, his eyes hopeful that his answer would satisfy him, that it would make him stop.

The fingers in his hair loosened, the palm of the hand pushing him away. The man straightened to his full height, glaring downward. “That’s better. Now get fucking dressed.”

Then Murphy was alone. His eyes went straight to the curtains. He had noticed them when he was on the floor & he quickly got to his feet, trying not to make a sound. The curtains matched the sheets, blue with Spiderman on them, and he pulled them open, eager to escape.

His eyes met wood. The window was boarded up from the outside, nails securing it in place. He dropped his head as tears threatened once again, he’d never get out of here, probably not ever. He thought of his twin, Connor would have had a plan, he’d know what to do, he’d know how to get away. But Murphy was alone, all alone, without Connor helping him. He looked upward, thanking God that Connor wasn’t here with him, Connor was safe at home, with Ma.

As he glanced around, he caught a glimpse of his reflection in the full-length mirror that hung on the wall. His eyes stared back, blinking slowly, as he moved closer. 

He looked odd, he looked too skinny, he looked like someone he barely recognized.

The bruises were wrong. He had been hit on the left side of his face, along his cheekbone & mouth, but the bruises weren’t there. He had to have bruised, it hurt so bad, he remembered bleeding.....he had to have bruised. But instead, there were bruises along his jawline, his other cheek dark purple & swollen. He shook his head, the bruises were completely different.

He pushed his hair from his eyes without thinking. His Ma had just cut it, how could it be this fucking long? It wasn’t possible. Unless.....

Murphy felt sick.....his stomach churned. He’d been drugged, he’d heard them say it when he was waking up. The sandwich.....the drink.....they’d put something in it. How long had they kept him drugged? How much time had he lost?

His ribs. His ribs hurt. But he hadn’t been hit there, they shouldn’t hurt.

He took off the pajamas, scared to look at his body. He finally lifted his eyes, he had to see, he had to know. He looked at the mirror, he looked at his discolored body, a whimper escaping his mouth. Along both sides of his ribs & back he had multi-colored bruising, deep purples mixed with greens & yellows, the bruises in various stages of healing.

He jumped when the door opened, the woman poking her head inside to check on him, her eyes searching the room until she found him by the mirror. “Apparently I can’t trust you to get dressed by yourself.”

She picked up the clothes from the floor, holding them out to him, and he gingerly took them from her hands. She watched him dress, her face scrunching up when she saw the clothing was too large for the boys thin build. She grabbed him by the collar, pulling the shirt open in the back to check the size.

“If you hadn’t fought us so much, I could have taken you with me to the store & got you something that fit. But it’ll have to do for now, at least until I can trust you enough to take you out in public.”

He was led from the room and made to sit at the kitchen table, the woman turning her back on the boy as she continued to prepare their lunch. She was humming quietly, she wasn’t watching him, she wasn’t paying attention.....this was his chance.

The door was open, he could see outside, it was so close.

He stood & carefully walked to the door, his bare feet making no sound. He pushed at the screen door & it quietly opened, he didn’t need much room to squeeze through, and in a second he was out the door. He glanced around and then he ran. He ran as fast as he could, rounding the side of the house & moving to the street. He’d run all the way to town if he had to.

Just as he was about to clear the house, he ran into a solid wall that was the big man. His momentum stopped abruptly & he fell back onto his butt with a graceless thud. Before he could react, the man’s meaty paw was in his hair, dragging Murphy back to the house.

Murphy screamed, Murphy fought, Murphy kicked. Murphy tried everything he could. But he was no match & he was dragged back inside, the man throwing him to the floor. Murphy skidded across the linoleum, his body slamming into the cupboard painfully as the man moved toward him.

The woman stood watching, her eyes on the boy as he looked at her, his eyes pleading for help. Her expression was blank, her eyes vacant, and Murphy clenched his eyes shut as the man pulled him to his feet, only to hit him so hard that Murphy fell back to the floor. The man repeated this once more, Murphy’s blood running down his chin as he curled into a ball, praying it wouldn’t last long.

“He’s had enough,” the woman said, “Bring him to the table.”

He was dragged by his hair back to the table & shoved into the chair, the woman coming over with a wet dishtowel, placing it to his mouth.

“It’s your own fault you got hit. We were going to have a nice family lunch but you just couldn’t behave,” the woman explained, her tone patient as she tried to stop the bleeding. “You need to learn to be good. You need to listen.”

“He’ll listen if he wants to keep that twin brother of his safe.”

Murphy’s eyes widened, no, not Connor, God no. He felt panicked, he couldn’t let them hurt Connor, he’d do anything to keep him safe, anything at all.  
The woman watched his reaction, seeing the panic in his eyes, feeling the desperation in the boy. She removed the towel from his mouth, holding his head in place by his chin & looking into his eyes.

“You want to keep Connor safe, don’t you?”

Murphy felt like he couldn’t breathe, his heart would surely stop if Connor got hurt because of him. He nodded in response, yes, he wanted to keep Connor safe.

“That’s a good boy,” she grinned, her voice dripping with saccharine. She released his face & went to the cupboard, taking out a small dark bottle & a tablespoon. She poured the liquid into the spoon & held it out in front of his mouth. She didn’t say anything, she just waited.

He stared at the spoon, he knew what it was, it was the drug that made him lose time, it was the drug that made him not know what was happening, it made him behave. But it was also the drug that would keep Connor safe.

He opened his mouth, blinking back his tears, and he swallowed the bitter liquid.


	5. Realization

He opened his eyes to darkness. At first, he wasn’t even sure his eyes were actually open, thinking maybe they had blinded him somehow, but then he lifted his head & saw the thin beam of light coming from under the closed door across the room.

He tried to move, he wanted to get close to that light, but he quickly realized he was tied down, his ankles & wrists secured tightly to the bed by leather straps. He pulled on them, the bindings digging into his tender flesh, crying out in pain as his damaged skin was ripped open. He felt the warm stickiness of his blood as it dripped from his wrists and ankles, pooling on the sheets below his limbs.

Murphy was alone. In the dark. And he was scared.

He had always been scared of being alone, but especially at night. Often, Connor would let him sleep in his bed, just because Murphy was so scared. Or Connor would climb into his twin’s bed, he’d hold him to calm his shaking, staying awake until Murphy would drift off to sleep. More often than not, they’d end up in the same bed.....all because Murphy was scared of being alone in the dark.

Murphy never could explain why he was so scared, or what it was about being alone at night that gave him the chills. He just didn’t know why, it was just something he couldn’t explain, not even to Connor. He had tried to figure it out, Connor had even tried, but neither boy knew why one twin was haunted by this fear & the other was not. So they found a way to deal with it, together. Whenever Murphy was afraid, Connor was there.

Except now. Connor wasn’t here. And Murphy was terrified. Not just of the dark, not just of being alone, not just because he wasn’t safe in his bed at home, where he belonged. He was terrified about what they were planning on doing to him, what they had already done that he couldn’t remember, what they would do to Connor if he didn’t obey.

Connor.

The big man had said Murphy needed to be good, he needed to listen to them, if he wanted to keep Connor safe. And he wanted, he needed, to keep Connor safe, no matter what. He had to protect him, he had to make sure they didn’t go after him, he couldn’t let Connor get hurt. He’d die to keep Connor safe.

There was no noise, only his own quiet breathing and when he moved, the occasional rattle of the metal buckles on the bindings that held him down. His eyes looked around in the dark, unable to see anything other than that bit of light beyond the door. He wished the window wasn’t boarded up, then at least he’d have some kind of light to help him see, instead of this complete blackness that seemed to get darker by the second.

He felt the terror move over him, like a shadow or a dark cloud, it seemed to grab at him and choke him. If he was home, he’d be with Connor and he wouldn’t be scared. But Connor wasn’t here. And Murphy wasn’t home.

He closed his eyes & pretended Connor was in the room with him, he made believe he could hear his brother’s soft breathing as he slept. He imagined Connor smiling at him, telling him everything would be okay, he could almost hear his soothing voice, ‘Connor’s here, Murph. I’m right here.’

Murphy opened his eyes, “Conn? Connor?” 

For a brief moment, he really thought he had heard his twin talking to him, comforting him. But when there was no response, harsh realization flooded the boy. Murphy knew Connor wasn’t here and all the pretending in the world wouldn’t change where Murphy was right now. Alone in a strange place tied to a bed. Alone in the dark. Alone and scared.

Murphy struggled to keep his breathing even, trying not to panic as he pulled again at the leather straps. If he could just get free, he’d feel a little better, he just knew it. But the straps didn’t give, on the contrary, they seemed to tighten around his wrists, causing his hands to numb.

His breathing sounded loud in the room, he felt lightheaded & sick to his stomach. He didn’t want to cry, he was trying to hold it in, but he couldn’t stop it from happening. Hot tears leaked from the outside corners of his eyes, running into his hair as he softly weeped.

Murphy lifted his head when he heard footsteps approaching, his eyes glued to the light under the door. A shadow stopped on the other side of the door, hesitating briefly before the soft squeak of the doorknob was heard.

As the door began to open, Murphy dropped his head back on the bed & closed his eyes, feigning sleep. He heard the click of the overhead light & he listened as the soft footsteps of the woman approached, almost cautiously. She stood next to the bed for what felt like forever & Murphy wondered why she was just standing there.

“I know you’re not asleep.”

Shit, how’d she know?

He felt the bed shift as she sat next to him & he slowly opened his eyes, squinting against the harsh light, unable to see. When he was finally able to focus, he was met by her smiling face as she leaned over him, her eyes staring with an intensity that frightened him. He wanted to pull back, she was too close, he wanted to move away, she was too fucking close.

He watched as her hand moved from the bed toward his face, her finger wiping at the wetness that was still apparent from his crying, her touch soft & tender.

“There’s nothing to cry about. You’re ten years old, you need to be a big boy & stop all this crying.”

Murphy shifted, trying to move away, even just a little bit. His hands pulled on the bindings as he moved, the leather straps pulling tighter than ever before and he couldn’t help but cry out in pain. Tears came to his eyes, he couldn’t help it, his wrists felt like they were being cut open by a knife.

The woman watched as the tears grew, she watched as the boy’s lip quivered, she watched as the tears overflowed his eyes & ran into his hair once again. Her finger gently wiped away the tears & she began to hum a soft tune that Murphy recognized from that first day in the root cellar.

When the pain in his wrists subsided, he was finally able to stop his tears & she sat back, her eyes moving to his wrists as she shook her head. “I see now why you’re crying. But if you didn’t pull so much, the straps wouldn’t hurt you. I told you last week to stop pulling on them. You need to listen to what I tell you and stop hurting yourself.”

Last week? It felt like just an hour ago that he had willingly swallowed the drug she held out in front of him. How long had he been here? How long?

The woman’s hands were on the straps at his wrists, undoing the binding carefully & alleviating the pressure, the blood flow returning to his numb hands. When his wrists were finally free, she moved toward the foot of the bed, toward the ankle straps. She was methodical as she began to undo the binding, Murphy sitting up & watching her, trying to learn how to do it in case he ever got the opportunity.

She next took him down the hall to the bathroom, washing & then bandaging his ankles & wrists before moving on to wash his face. Her touch was soft, it was actually caring, and Murphy really didn’t mind it this time, even when she started humming that same tune.

She set clothes on his bed when they returned to the room, clean underwear & socks, blue jeans, a new pair of sneakers & a light green t-shirt with the number “10” on it. She squatted in front of him, holding his forearms in her hands, carefully avoiding his enflamed wrists, and told him to change his clothes & play in his room until she came back.

He tested the door after he was sure she was gone, not surprised to find it locked. But at least he wasn’t tied to the bed any longer. He glanced around the room and quickly moved to the mirror, he wanted to see if the bruises were any different this time.

The first thing he noticed was that his hair was shorter.....and it was cut a little different, his ears showing more than when his Ma cut it. He didn’t like the way it looked, it looked too different, he didn’t want his ears showing. When he was seven, Connor told him he had Dumbo ears & ever since, he kept his hair over his ears. But now they were showing & he didn’t like it.

The bruises along his jaw & cheekbone were still there but they had faded & were now a sickly snot-colored green. He had a couple new bruises around his eye but they weren’t the worst he had seen since he was taken, he must not have fought so much this time.

His body wasn’t much different, mostly old bruises mixed with a couple new ones, predominately over his ribcage. He poked at them curiously, it was strange to have bruises and not know how or why they were inflicted.

He moved to the bed & pulled on the clothes she had left for him. And even though they were far too big, it actually felt good to wear regular clothes, it felt almost normal.

Murphy looked around the room, feeling a strangeness that he couldn’t explain. It was all so familiar, like his hands had touched everything, like he had sat on the   
floor & played with the toys. He went to the desk, wanting to see if the coloring book was what he thought it was, what he seemed to remember somehow.

Zoo animals, just like he thought. He leafed through the pages, stopping when he found one that was already colored, and his mouth opened in shock when he saw ‘Murphy’ written on the page in his own handwriting. He quickly found other pictures that were colored, his name again scrawled at the bottom, just like he always did when he finished a picture.

It all finally made sense. Everything was familiar because he’d spent a lot of time in this room. He had played with the toys. He had colored. He had done these things while drugged, that’s why he had no real memory, just flashes of familiarity. That’s why.

He wandered around the room, investigating everything, even though he knew exactly what was in the room & exactly where he had left it. He was overwhelmed by the amount of toys, there were so many, far too many for one kid to have and he actually felt guilty that he had played with them, knowing that Connor would have loved to play with him.

He wondered what Connor was doing right now. He thought he could feel Connor crying, deep in his heart.....crying over his twin. Murphy tried to push that thought away. No, he wanted Connor to be happy, he wanted him to be playing in the sun, he wanted him to be smiling.

Murphy dropped his head, he knew Connor was crying right now, he just knew it. And there was nothing he could do to stop it. He thought of his brother, his best friend, his other half of his soul. Murphy closed his eyes, trying to somehow let Connor know that he was okay, he was still alive.....and he was sorry he hadn’t fought hard enough that day on the playground.

He opened his eyes when he heard the door unlocking, the woman looking inside & smiling when she saw him dressed in the clothes she had put out. She motioned for him to follow her & he quietly obeyed, following her down the stairs & into the kitchen.

The big man was sitting at the table, the newspaper open in front of him, and the woman motioned Murphy to the chair next to the man. The man never looked up as the boy sat quietly at the table, the woman behind them finishing preparing the food. Murphy glanced at the newspaper, trying to see a city name, or a date at least. 

Finally, his eyes caught the date in the upper right corner.

Six weeks.....it was almost six weeks that had passed. Six fucking weeks.

Murphy’s eyes continued to scan the newspaper, not sure of what he was looking for, maybe a story about him being missing, or maybe a picture of Ma & Connor. He prayed he’d see a picture of his family.

“No one’s looking for you anymore,” the big man said & Murphy lifted his gaze, looking into the coldest eyes he had ever seen. “They stopped a long time ago.”

Murphy found his inner strength, if there was anything he knew without a doubt, it was that Ma & Connor would never stop looking for him.....not ever.

The man folded the newspaper & tossed it to the counter, watching the boy glare back with defiant eyes and his best ‘fuck you’ scowl. The man nodded slowly, “I have something to show you, just in case you’re getting ideas into that stubborn head of yours.”

Murphy sat at the table while the man briefly left, returning with a folder. The man smirked at the nervousness in the boy, placing a picture on the table in front of him.

Connor.....it was Connor.

“That’s your twin brother, isn’t it?” he asked, knowing full well it was. “That’s from yesterday morning. He was running a little late for school but you’ll be happy to know he made it on time.”

Murphy looked at the date stamp on the picture.....the big man wasn’t lying, it was taken yesterday.

More pictures were placed on the table, Connor leaving school, Connor at the store, Connor walking down their street, Connor walking into their house. The final picture was taken through the window & it brought tears to Murphy’s eyes. Ma & Connor eating supper.

“They had stew. It was leftovers from the night before.”

Murphy couldn’t look away from the picture, he could almost reach out & touch them. As silent tears ran from his eyes, he noticed the bowl they had set for him at the table, next to Connor.

Murphy wanted to go home.

The man scooped up the pictures, tearing them from Murphy’s hungry gaze & Murphy wiped at his face with the back of his sleeve, his tears continuing to fall shamelessly.

“Now you know I’m serious, don’t you boy?”

He let the weight of the situation sink into the boy’s mind. Murphy wasn’t stupid, he knew the big man was threatening Connor, he knew he wasn’t bluffing.

“If you want to keep precious Connor safe at home with Ma, then you do what we tell you to do, you fucking listen & you fucking behave. Or else it’s lights out for Connor.”

The soft sound of Murphy quietly snuffling as he tried to catch his breath was the only sound in the room as the man waited, sitting back and watching with enjoyment, his yellow teeth showing as he smiled.

“Do you understand, boy?”

Murphy nodded slowly, his eyes glued to the table.

“I can’t fucking hear you. Do you understand!?”

Murphy took a deep breath, thinking only of Connor, he had to keep him safe, he had to. “Y-yesss, s-s-sir.”

The big man raised his eyebrows, he hadn’t expected the ‘sir’ but it pleased him and he nodded to the woman. “I told you all we had to do was find something to motivate him.”

The woman placed a tray of sandwiches on the table and she placed her hand on Murphy’s head, stroking his hair as the boy continued to cry, his body now shaking as well. “Can we cut back on what we give him now?”

The man paused, contemplating the question, his eyes studying the boy’s reaction. “Maybe just a bit. He still has a long way to go before he accepts what we’ve told him as fact. I don’t want to take a chance & have him slip up and ruin everything.”

The hand continued to stroke his hair before the woman mumbled a soft, “I suppose you’re right.” She wiped his face when he finally stopped crying, sitting at the table next to the shaken boy.

Murphy sat at the table with them, he ate with them, he listened as they talked about him like he wasn’t there. He heard the big man tell the woman that he wasn’t coming along fast enough, he might have to take over & “condition” the boy himself.

The woman was silent, she said nothing, and this scared Murphy more than the man’s words.

Murphy could barely eat anything, he had no appetite, his stomach hurt, he felt like he would barf if he ate. He had only taken a couple of small bites from his sandwich, it was salami & he hated salami. It grossed him out.

“You’re wasting food,” the big man mumbled through a mouthful of sandwich, salami falling from his mouth onto his plate. “You better eat if you know what’s good for you.”

But Murphy couldn’t eat, he just couldn’t.

The man leaned forward, his fat finger pointing at the boy. “You either eat that sandwich or I’ll make you eat it.”

The woman looked at the boy, her hand pushing his plate a little closer. “You heard your father. Eat.”

Murphy looked up at her, his blue eyes wide. “I-I can’t.”

“Yes you can,” she quietly responded, “You’re too skinny. Now eat.” And she pushed at his plate again.

He looked down at the sandwich, knowing how it tasted, and his mouth was suddenly dry. He knew they were both watching him & he slowly took the sandwich, held his breath & took a bite. He chewed as quickly as he could, taking a drink of milk after swallowing to drown the taste. He took another quick bite, this time biting into a hard piece in the lunch meat.

His stomach flip flopped, his mouth froze, the hard piece between his teeth as the taste of salami filled his mouth. He could feel bile rising from his stomach but he couldn’t stop it.

Murphy turned his head as vomit spewed from his mouth.....onto the big man. A second & third wave of vomit came from the crying boy, again onto the big man.

The woman sprang from her chair, grabbing a towel & wiping at Murphy’s face just as he finished retching. He was blubbering an apology, he didn’t mean to barf, he was sorry, he didn’t mean to.

The man exploded from his seat, grabbing the skinny boy by his shirt & lifting him from the chair. The woman pulled at the man’s arm, begging him to stop but he pushed her away, forcing her to the floor.

Murphy was lifted high in the air, his eyes wide as he stared at the man holding him, seeing the unadulterated rage in his eyes, the fury, the savagery he was about to exact on his victim.

Murphy was thrown through the air like a rag doll, hitting the wall in a thud before sliding to the floor in a heap. He had the wind knocked out of him & he struggled to catch his breath as the man loomed over him, slowly lifting him once again.

Blow after blow rained down on the boy, the big man’s knuckles red from Murphy’s blood, the child screaming in agony as his blood splayed across the floor.

Murphy had been beaten by this man many times since that first day, but none as brutally as this time. Murphy thought of Connor, hoping that one day he might somehow see his twin again, praying that his spilled blood would keep Connor safe, wishing for Connor to be happy without him.

He mumbled his twin’s name as he felt awareness start to fade, the pain taking over, blood pouring from his face. The beating was far too much for the weakened boy, he couldn’t take anymore. As another blow hit his blood covered face, he gave in & tumbled over the precipice of darkness.....Connor the last thing on his mind.

Almost 2 hours away, Connor sat on the porch with his Ma, talking about Murphy. Suddenly, the fair haired twin couldn’t breathe, he was gasping for air, his body almost convulsing as he started to shake uncontrollably.

Ma grabbed hold of her boy, yelling to him but he didn’t hear her, shaking him but he didn’t feel it.

A blood curdling scream erupted from the boy, followed by an agonized wail that formed deep in his soul as he collapsed to the ground, screaming his brother’s name.

“MURPHY!”


	6. Separation

She couldn’t calm him down, she didn’t know what was wrong, he wouldn’t stop shaking as he lay on the ground gasping for air. His lips turned blue as he struggled in her arms, his face twisted in agony. She tried to soothe him, to comfort him somehow, but she felt her own panic rapidly rising as her oldest twin turned bluer by the second.

She was crying as she held her son, her baby. She couldn’t lose another one of her boys.

God, please, don’t take him too.....please.

Annabelle looked up into the eyes of her neighbor, a middle aged man she knew only as Malcolm. He had heard the boy’s screams, rushing onto their porch just as Annabelle was on the verge of hysterics. He knelt next to the traumatized boy, grasping his shoulder & he spoke firmly, telling Connor to take deep breaths, calm down, that’s it, deep breaths.

After an eternity, the blue in Connor’s lips faded, the color came back to his face, his breathing more controlled. But his eyes.....his eyes remained wild & fearful as he looked at his Ma, his disorientation obvious.

She continued to cry as she rocked him in her arms, whispering for him to hush, he was safe at home, he was fine.

“Murph?”

As he spoke his twin’s name, her heart shattered even more than she thought possible. He was looking at her with complete trust, complete love, complete hope. And utter confusion.

“He’s not here, luv,” she quietly whispered, her words almost not making it past her lips, her throat tight, her chest heavy with sorrow. “Remember?”

She watched his face change as awareness returned, the memory of that day hitting him like an 18 wheeler going full speed, his features contorting in pain as he looked around desperately for his twin. The floodgate of tears let loose as he finally grasped what his mother said.....Murphy wasn’t here. Murphy was gone.

Connor remembered.

He tried not to hyperventilate as his body shook with his loud sobs, unable to control himself as his mother clutched him tighter to her body, his wailing muffled as his face pressed into her shoulder. She rubbed his back, she rocked him, she spoke softly in his ear.

Malcolm helped lift the boy back into the chair, going into the house & returning with a glass of water. Connor’s hand was shaking too much to hold the glass & Annabelle raised it to his lips, telling him to take a drink.

Connor practically choked on the water, managing to get down only a few sips, his breathing in soft short bursts as his crying slowed. Annabelle wiped at his face, stroking his cheek with her thumb, before softly kissing his forehead. She glanced at Malcolm, mouthing ‘thank you’ as he nodded & quietly left.

When Connor’s shaking had slowed to a tremor, when he looked like he wouldn’t break at any moment, Annabelle held his hands, squeezing gently as she asked what happened.

Connor’s lip quivered & he took a deep breath, telling Annabelle that someone was hurting Murphy.

A frigid wind blew through her soul with his four simple words. Someone was hurting Murphy.

They stared at each other, both sets of eyes distressed at the thought of the youngest MacManus family member suffering in some way, some stranger inflicting pain, with neither of them able to stop it.

She wanted to tell him he was mistaken, there was no way he could know Murphy was hurt, it wasn’t possible. But Annabelle knew her boys had a connection unlike any other she had seen in her life, it was special, it was unique. Their connection was irrefutable.

So when Connor told her that someone was hurting Murphy, that he was crying & in pain, she knew it to be true. Even though she wished he was wrong, she prayed he was wrong, she knew in her heart he wasn’t wrong. Someone was hurting Murphy.

They cried together on the porch the rest of the evening, holding onto each other, asking God to help Murphy. The agony they shared was palpable, it surged through their veins with every pump of their hearts, and Annabelle wondered if a person could die from a broken heart.

When the sun finally set and the sky grew dark, they listened to the crickets & stared at the stars, Connor wondering if Murphy was looking at those very same stars. No, he decided, not tonight, Murphy wouldn’t see the stars tonight.

When Connor finally fell asleep, Annabelle carried him to his bed, the young boy emotionally exhausted. She gently tucked him in, kissing his cheek softly, gazing at his face. He looked older than his 10 years, he had grown up a lot in the past six weeks, and she supposed it was inevitable, considering the situation.

She watched her boy sleep, hoping that his dreams would be peaceful but knowing he would wake sometime during the night, screaming for Murphy. It was the same each night, sometime between 3 and 4 am, the screaming would start & she’d have trouble calming him as he begged for his twin. They would end up crying together, night after night, trying to comfort the other.

She had tried to have him sleep in her bed, or even on the couch, thinking that being alone in the room he shared with Murphy was upsetting him. But if anything, sleeping elsewhere exacerbated the problem. He was harder to calm down, his screaming lasting longer & more anguished, his pleading for her to take him to Murphy unending. So she had returned Connor to his own bed in the room he shared with his brother. And when she would find him in Murphy’s bed, she’d let him remain there, knowing it somehow comforted him.

Annabelle turned to leave & her eyes fell on the empty bed a few feet away.....Murphy’s bed. It looked too empty, her child should be sleeping in that bed, he should be home. She slowly walked to the bed, picking up his pillow & holding it to her face. She inhaled deeply, tears springing to her eyes.....it smelled like her baby. She sat on the bed, clutching the pillow to her face, breathing in his scent. 

She sighed heavily, she’d do anything to have her boy in her arms, to have him home where he belonged. She slowly placed the pillow on the bed, smoothing the pillowcase, her hand pausing at the center of the pillow where Murphy’s head would lay. She could almost picture his dark hair against the white pillow, remembering how sweet he looked when she would check on her boys before going to sleep herself. 

She sat quietly, thinking of her missing child, when a touch of grey between his bed & the nightstand caught her eye. She reached for whatever was trapped there, her hand feeling the softness of a stuffed animal as she finally pulled it free.

Walter.....Murphy’s stuffed rabbit Walter. Murphy would carry Walter around with him constantly, he always had him nearby. Walter spent many a meal at the family table, he’d wait patiently on the floor when Murphy took his bath, and when Walter was lost, Murphy had cried his eyes out.

Annabelle stared at Walter. She thought he was gone for good, but here he was, no worse for wear. She placed Walter on Murphy’s bed.....Murphy would want Walter when he came home and she’d make sure he was here waiting for him.

She quietly left her boys’ room, tears running down her cheeks as she made her lonely way downstairs.

 

\---------- 

It was a struggle to get Connor to go to school. She had him stay home for weeks when Murphy first went missing, partly because he was so upset & needed to be with his mother, but mostly because she was too afraid to let him out of her sight.

But the boy needed an education, he needed to be with kids his own age, he needed a sense of normalcy. So Annabelle would walk him to school, taking Murphy’s place by his side, and she’d watch him until he was safe inside the building. Without fail, she’d be at the school before class was dismissed, walking back home with her son.

School policy had changed as a result of Murphy’s disappearance. Teachers were outside when the children arrived & as they left, watching carefully. No child was outside on their own and all the doors of the school were locked once classes began, except for the front door outside the main office.

Connor had begun to argue that he didn’t want to go to school, he wanted to go looking for his brother. He was certain he could find him, he just had to look. Murphy was out there somewhere, waiting to be found, waiting for Connor to bring him home. Connor just had to find him, that’s all.

Wherever they went, Annabelle would notice his eyes scanning for his twin, pausing to examine every dark haired boy, searching through the crowd. His eyes never stopped. No matter where he was, at church, at the store, in the car.....Connor’s eyes were looking for Murphy.

His grades began to suffer, his homework wasn’t turned in, he failed all his tests. His teachers were understanding & patient, knowing how lost Connor was without Murphy, but when the fighting began, Annabelle had to step in.

Connor was on the brink of suspension, he had begun to pick fights with every boy in school. Annabelle suspected Connor was trying to be suspended, that way he’d be free to go looking for Murphy. When she told him her suspicions, his quick denial was followed by a comment that he needed to look for Murphy more than he needed school.

She let him stay home the next week, taking him wherever he wanted to go just so he could look for his missing twin, her eyes joining his in the search. She prayed that somehow Connor would spot him, they’d even chased down a couple boys that resembled Murphy, but every night they returned home heartbroken, and with no Murphy.

Finally, Annabelle sat Connor down once again, knowing he needed to return to school. She explained to him that they would still go searching, as often as they could, they’d never stop looking. And as Connor began to argue, Annabelle told him that Murphy was missing a lot of school & when he came home, he’d need Connor to help him catch up. And Connor couldn’t do that if he didn’t go to school.

Connor couldn’t argue, he knew Murphy would need him once he was found. So Connor went back to school and he worked hard to improve his grades, to learn as much as he could, just so he’d be able to help Murphy when he came home.

Annabelle kept her promise to her boy. Over the next six years, Connor & Annabelle searched vigorously, expanding their search to neighboring towns, stopping at every farm along the way. They put up posters, handed out flyers, spoke to whoever would listen. 

And Connor’s eyes never slowed, convinced one day he’d find his brother, his twin, his Murph.


	7. Happy Birthday

Connor was stumbling home from school, blood dripping from his nose from the one lucky punch Tommy McKray got away with, the fucker. Connor had showed him though, Tommy would never say shit about Murphy again.

Tommy used to be his friend, he used to be their friend, both Connor’s & Murphy’s. But in the four years since Murphy disappeared, Tommy hadn’t looked for Murphy, not once. All of Connor’s other friends would go looking, they’d all take turns walking around town, trying to spot Murphy. Even Tommy’s older brother Michael would drive Connor around every once in a while, but Tommy never looked.

Connor didn’t understand why Tommy refused to look & he just couldn’t be friends with someone who wouldn’t help him find his brother. He would be polite to Tommy, say hello and all, but nothing more. Until today.

Today was Connor & Murphy’s 14th birthday. And today Tommy told him he thought Murphy was dead.

Connor barely remembered what happened next, but he knows he went nuts, he completely lost it. He knows he pummeled Tommy’s face with his fists, he knows he screamed obscenities while he did it, and he knows if Mr. Jones hadn’t pulled him off, he’d still be hitting Tommy.

As Connor walked home, wiping his bloody nose on his sleeve & not giving a shit if he stained it, all he could think about was what Tommy said about Murph, the words echoing in his ears, his eyes filling with bitter tears.

“Murphy’s dead, Connor.”

Tommy said it like it was nothing, like it didn’t matter, like Murph didn’t matter.

“Murphy’s dead, Connor.”

Fuck Tommy. Fuck him for saying that about Murph. Tommy didn’t know shit. Murphy wasn’t dead, he wasn’t…..he couldn’t be.

“Murphy’s dead, Connor.”

Connor’s mind suddenly pictured Murphy beaten & bruised, he pictured his twin bloody & broken, he pictured his Murph…..dead. He couldn’t get the image out of his mind, Murphy staring straight ahead into nothing as someone covered his mangled body with dirt, burying him in an unmarked grave.

He swiped at his eyes angrily, trying desperately to get that image out of his tortured mind. Murphy wasn’t dead. Connor knew it, he could feel it, he’d know if Murphy was dead, he’d fucking know it.

Murphy wasn’t dead and fuck anyone who said different.

\----------

Connor arrived home to find his Ma sitting at the kitchen table, whiskey bottle in hand, birthday cake in front of her. She looked surprised to see Connor walk in, her eyes looking past him as if hoping to see Murphy trailing behind, like he used to do. A wave of sadness swept over her face at the realization that Connor was alone, there was no dark haired twin with him, Murphy still wasn’t walking through that door. Her eyes returned to the cake, staring at it, and she lifted the bottle to her lips, taking a long pull as Connor slowly made his way to his mother.

“They did a nice job this year,” she mumbled, her words not yet slurred beyond comprehension, she was still hours away from passing out. “Murphy would love it.”

Connor lowered his eyes to the cake, knowing what he would see, and he braced himself. “Happy 14th Birthday Connor & Murphy” was written across the top of the cake in purple frosting, Murphy’s favorite color. The cake was in the shape of a rabbit & certainly not something a fourteen year old boy would want, it looked too juvenile, but Connor wasn’t surprised by his mother’s choice. Murphy loved rabbits, at least he used to, and every year their Ma had the bakery make the same thing. The only thing different from year to year was the number on the cake, this year being “14.”

“It’s a real nice cake, Ma.”

She nodded slowly, her eyes not moving, and it wouldn’t have surprised Connor if she fell over & died right then and there. Connor was torn, he didn’t know if he should stay with her or just leave. He chose to stay.

“Your brother used to love rabbits.”

Connor felt sorrow fill his heart at his mother’s words. Everytime he saw a rabbit, he thought of Murphy & he wondered if his twin still loved rabbits as much as he used to. He hoped he did. “I remember.”

“He’s fourteen today, Connor…..fourteen.”

Connor didn’t know what to say, what do you say to something like that? But he felt like he should say something, so he quietly mumbled, “I know, Ma.”

Her response was curt, almost like he had said the wrong thing, “’Course ya do.” Connor stood watching her, shifting on his feet, wishing this day was over.

Annabelle lifted the bottle to her mouth once again, whiskey pouring down her throat as she attempted to numb her pain the only way she knew how. She began to drink after that first year had passed, right after the one year anniversary of Murphy’s disappearance, and most days her drinking wasn’t too bad. But on their birthday, on holidays, and especially on ‘that day,’ she tended to drink until she passed out, Connor having to put his mother to bed more often than not.

She lifted her eyes, looking like she was seeing him for the first time since he walked in the door, and she motioned to his face. “What happened? You been fighting again?”  
Connor didn’t want to lie, but he also didn’t want to tell her what Tommy had said, about Murphy being dead. She wouldn’t be able to handle hearing those words, even if they weren’t true. He decided a lie was better, telling her that his nose started bleeding on the way home, the air being so dry and all. She was inebriated just enough to believe his fabrication, mumbling something about him needing to wash the blood from his face before they had birthday cake.

He backed away slowly, dreading how he knew the rest of his birthday would go…..candles, her singing Happy Birthday to him & Murphy, cutting the cake while she cried, her passing out and Connor cleaning up the mess afterward. All without his twin, all without Murph by his side.

Connor really hated his birthday.

\----------

Connor threw his books on his bed before making his way to his bathroom, peeling his shirt off his body in the process and dropping the garment on the floor. He carefully washed the blood from his face before staring at his reflection, wondering if Murphy looked at all like he did…..did he have the same eyes, the same hair, the same smile……the same anything.

Would Connor even recognize him if he saw him again? Or would he walk right by him, not knowing his twin was right there in front of him? Murph could be just some face in the crowd, completely unrecognizable, and Connor might not even know he was there.

He shook that thought from his mind…..he’d know Murph, he’d recognize him no matter how much time passed, no matter how much his brother changed. Murphy is his twin, Connor would know him anywhere.

All Connor wanted in this world was for Murphy to come home. That’s all, nothing more. He just wanted to see Murphy walk through the door, he wanted to see his smiling face again, he wanted to wrap his arms around him & keep him safe.

Shit…..he fucking missed his brother.

“Happy birthday, Murph,” he quietly whispered, his voice echoing against the tile & almost mocking him. “I miss you.”

Connor hoped that wherever Murphy was, whatever he was doing, he would somehow know that Connor was thinking about him. If nothing else, he hoped Murphy knew he loved him.

He stood in place for a few minutes, struggling with his emotions, holding his tears in. When he glanced at himself in the mirror once again, he saw the shadow of what he used to be…..a happy, carefree kid without a worry in the world. But now…..he was half a person with half a soul, drifting aimlessly, grieving his missing twin.

Connor returned to his room, he might as well get this birthday over with as soon as possible. But when he walked past the threshold between the bathroom & his bedroom, he stopped dead in his tracks.

Someone was sitting on Murphy’s bed. Tommy…..Tommy was on Murphy’s bed. And Tommy was holding Walter.

Tommy heard the scuffle of Connor’s shoes & he slowly turned his head, his eyes holding Connor’s for only a moment before dropping them to the floor.

“Hey, Connor. Your Ma said I could come up here.”

Connor couldn’t move, he was too shocked to respond, all he could hear was Tommy’s voice haunting him. “Murphy’s dead, Connor.”

Tommy turned his attention back to Walter, moving him in his hands, tugging on his ears. “This is Murphy’s, right? I remember he used to like rabbits.”

Connor watched Tommy run his hand over Walter’s fur, squeezing his stomach. “Wasn’t his name Walter, or something? Shit, this rabbit has seen better days, Connor. You should get rid of it.”

“Put him down & get the fuck off my brother’s bed,” Connor practically growled, his defenses up, ready to beat Tommy to a pulp if he so much as moved wrong. “Now.”

Tommy had the nerve to look shocked but at least he had the sense to return Walter to his place on Murphy’s pillow. Tommy then stood, raising his hands in a defensive posture as he turned to face Connor.

“I didn’t hurt anything, Connor. See? I put the rabbit back on Murphy’s bed, just where I found it.”

Connor felt his hands clench, the skin on his knuckles so tight that it felt like his hands would split open. Walter was back on Murphy’s bed but he wasn’t where Tommy had found him, he wasn’t placed quite right.

“Murphy was my friend, Connor. I miss him too.”

Connor scoffed, his need to protect & defend his brother just as strong as it ever was. He pushed Tommy aside & picked up Walter, examining him for any damage, making sure Tommy hadn’t ripped the fur or tore the seams. Finding no damage, Connor placed Walter carefully on Murphy’s bed, patting it gently before turning back to the intruder.

“For future reference, don’t ever touch my brother’s stuff again. Especially Walter. Am I clear?” Connor said in as firm a voice as he could muster, his eyes glaring, thankful his voice didn’t crack with emotion.

Connor smiled with satisfaction as Tommy swallowed the lump in his throat, his head nodding in response to Connor’s directive.

“Now what the fuck do you want?”

Tommy looked like he wanted to be anywhere but in front of Connor MacManus, anywhere at all. “I just wanted to tell you I’m sorry. For what I said about Murphy.”

Connor felt his wall come down, but just a bit. After all, Tommy didn’t say he was wrong for thinking Murphy was dead, just for saying it out loud to Connor. The boys stared at each other, Connor waiting for Tommy to say something more, but he didn’t.

“Anything else?” Connor couldn’t help the attitude in his voice and in his posture.

“Just…..that I’m real sorry for what happened to your brother. He was a good kid.”

Connor’s teeth clenched in his mouth, his jaw so tight that it felt like his teeth would crumble. He didn’t miss that Tommy talked about Murphy in the past tense, ‘he was a good kid,’ like he was dead or something.

“Let me set you straight, Tommy. Murphy isn’t dead. I’m his twin brother & I’d know it if he was dead. Murph’s missing, and one day I’ll find him & bring him back home. You just wait and see, I’ll find him.”

“I hope so, Connor, I really do.”

Connor said nothing more, he just motioned for Tommy to leave, which he quickly did. Connor stood motionless for a few minutes, his eyes running over his brother’s things on his side of the room, all the toys that Murphy would have outgrown by now, the trucks, the army men, the stupid plastic knife he loved so much…..Walter.

Connor picked up Walter once again, staring at the stupid fucking rabbit Murphy used to carry around everywhere he went. Walter was all he had left of Murph. Connor took a deep breath and made a solemn vow, heard only by God.

He’d find Murphy. And he’d bring him home. If it was the last fucking thing he did.


	8. My Name is Murphy MacManus

_My name is Murphy…..Murphy MacManus._

He was dragged from the house by his hair after he spit on the big man, refusing to do what they demanded, refusing to say the name he knew wasn’t his. He’d never deny who he was, not ever, he wouldn’t. He was Murphy MacManus, son of Annabelle MacManus, twin brother of Connor MacManus. He knew who he was and he wouldn’t deny it, no matter what they did to him, no matter how much it hurt.

The big man dragged the boy across the grass, moving rapidly toward the root cellar, yelling at Murphy to give in. Murphy screamed his name louder, not relenting even though he knew he’d pay for his stubborn defiance with his own blood. His small hand clutched the man’s wrist, clawing at his skin, trying to get him to let go of his hair but the grip never diminished. It felt like his hair was being pulled out by the roots and he stumbled as he tried to stay on his feet.

He could hear the woman yelling from the porch, yelling to him to stop fighting, to be a good boy, to listen to his mommy & daddy. Then suddenly she directed her yells to the big man, screaming at him not to hurt “her baby” too badly, bring him back, she’d make him listen. But the big man didn’t slow their progress, he kept moving with purpose toward the place that terrified the child in his grip. He had a lesson to teach this boy, he’d show him who was boss, he’d make this boy regret his insolence.

When they reached the door of the root cellar, the big man finally let go of the boy’s hair, flinging him to the dirt. Murphy rolled & ended up on his back, looking up at the man towering over him, his body tensing as he waited for the kick to the ribs he had learned to expect. The big man’s face was red with anger, the muscles on his face twitching, his lips in a sneer. “Stay down, boy.”

He stared at Murphy for only a moment before drawing his foot back as if to kick the boy. Murphy cowered & lifted his hands in a defensive posture, hoping to deflect the kick & lessen the pain somewhat. But the kick didn’t come, instead the man lowered his foot back to the ground & laughed. Murphy looked away, still not lowering his defenses, still expecting the kick to be felt, still cowering in the dirt.

The man pushed at the boy’s shoulder with the toe of his boot and Murphy did his best not to react, it would only be worse if he reacted. The man moved his boot to the boys’ leg, pushing again to check for a response. Seemingly satisfied that the boy had given up, he turned his attention to the door of the root cellar. As soon as he turned away, Murphy sprang to his feet & when the man turned back a second later, Murphy kicked at him. He could hear Connor’s voice in his ear, _‘Hit him where it hurts, Murph.’_ He was aiming for the man’s balls but his fear caused his aim to be off and the man pivoted in response to the kick, the child’s small foot only connecting with his thigh.

“You little fuck,” the man hissed & backhanded Murphy across the face, causing the child’s head to snap to the side, his thin body collapsing to the ground from the strong blow. The man never held back when he was punishing the boy, his blows always severe & bruising, sometimes crushing. “I’ll teach you not to fight me.”

Murphy was face down in the dirt, blood from his mouth covering his teeth & running out between his lips as he struggled to breathe. He spit into the dirt as he tried to get the copper taste of his own blood out of his mouth & he shook his head to try to clear it. He moved slowly, crawling away, trying to get the fuck away from his tormentor but he never seemed to get too far. He heard the rattle of the chain as the door to the root cellar was unlocked, the loud creaking of the door signaling the big man’s preparation to lock the boy inside.

“Come here, boy.” The hand was in his hair once again, pulling him back, lifting him to his feet. Instinct caused him to grab once again at the hand on his head, knowing full fucking well it would do no good. “Tell me your name, boy.”

“Fuck you!” the boy screamed as loud as he could, blood spattering across the man’s face from the boy’s mouth as he yelled, his continued defiance angering the man further.

The man wiped the blood from his face with his sleeve, his mouth in a snarl. “All you have to do is say your proper name and I’ll stop. Just give in and say it and the pain will be over.”  
He knew the name they wanted him to say but he wouldn’t do it, even though he was suddenly struggling to remember what his real last name was. With a sick feeling he remembered swallowing another dose of the drug that morning. He’d had too much of that drug for too long, it was making him forget things he should know, simple things like his own fucking name.

_My name is Murphy Mac…..it’s Murphy Mac….MacManus. I think._

But he did remember one thing, one person. Murphy remembered Connor. Saying that new name felt like he would be denying everything they had as family, as brothers, as twins. He didn’t want to deny his brother, he would never do that, not as long as he had any memory left. He just didn’t know if he could take another beating and live through it, the pain was too much. Death would be so much easier.

The man dragged him to the top of the stairs, turning him and forcing him to look down into the dark root cellar as he tightened his grip in the child’s dark hair. “Last chance. Say your fucking name, boy.”

Murphy struggled against the man, feeling the muscular arm wrap around his waist & hold him in place. He didn’t want to go down there, into the musty darkness, he was scared of that place, scared of the rats he knew had taken residence in the darkness. He tried to pull away, he tried to kick & scratch, he tried to punch but nothing worked, he was far too small & weak. He whimpered in fear, closing his eyes tightly, his mouth closing just as tightly to prevent himself from saying that name that wasn’t his.

Then Murphy was flying through the air, his body propelling downward, his shoulder hitting the stairs with a sickening crunch. He fell is slow motion, leaving a trail of blood as different parts of his body impacted painfully with the wood, his skull hitting twice on the way down. 

Murphy MacManus was unconscious by the time his body reached the dirt floor.

 

\----------

He woke to pain. His entire body was in pain, not one single place on his body didn’t hurt. He moved only a fraction of an inch & he screamed out, the pain in his head causing him to clutch at his skull as if to protect himself for further trauma. His fingers were met with the stickiness of his own blood, his hair coated in thick streaks & he felt like he would be sick.  
Once the initial crushing wave of pain relented, once the nausea abated somewhat, only the rhythmic pounding of his injuries remained. He was accustomed to this type of pain, he’d grown comfortable with it, pain meant he was still alive.

Murphy slowly opened his eyes, his vision cloudy at first until he was finally able to clear his sight with rapid eye blinks. He should have kept his eyes shut. He was in the place he feared the most, the place that was his living nightmare, the place that made him whimper in fear. He was in the root cellar.

The big man had turned on the light to ensure that once Murphy woke up, he’d see exactly where he was, he wanted him to know he was in this scary fucking place. Murphy stayed in the dirt at the bottom of the stairs, his eyes looking around, remembering yet not remembering. He’d been here too many times to count, each time had been painful, each time had been terrifying, each time he’d been beaten & abused until he was a broken child, a child he no longer recognized & barely remembered.

His mind was confused, he felt lost. They had continued to give him the drug that made him forget & lose time, increasing the dose whenever he became more defiant in an attempt to control him when the physical violence failed to do so. But pieces of the past weeks, _or was it months,_ filtered through the drug haze  & the thing he remembered the most was pain. The one thing he couldn’t forget was what he desperately wanted to be without. Unrelenting, raw, torturous pain.

The recent dose hadn’t been enough to control him, although it was more than enough to alter his memory further. He was forgetting things he knew he should remember, things from his past before he was here, people who had been important. With each passing day, each passing minute, those memories faded a bit more. He wanted to remember but he couldn’t, he wasn’t even sure anymore what he struggled to retain.

The only thing he seemed to barely remember was a face that was fading from his mind, like an old yellowed photograph from centuries gone by. It was the face of the one person he loved more than anyone else on the planet, the one person he never wanted to forget. Connor. He still remembered him but it felt more like a dream now. Maybe that’s all it was, a dream. Maybe Connor wasn’t real, maybe he was all in Murphy’s mind, maybe Murphy made him up to cope with his pain.

_My name is Murphy. Murphy something or other. Murphy Mac something._

He struggled to remember, he didn’t want to forget, he needed to keep his name at least. But he could feel it leaving, like sand through his fingers, slowly filtering from his brain into the nothingness. Tears filled his eyes. He didn’t want to lose himself, he didn’t want to lose Connor, ever if he wasn’t a real person. He didn’t want to be alone with these people who hurt him without even the memory of his make believe twin brother. His tears overflowed his eyes & ran into his hair, he was a lost soul. Lost and completely alone.

_My name is Murphy. Murphy what? Does it even matter anymore?_

He rolled onto his side and cried for who he used to be and for all he had lost. He lost not only his memory & his family, but he lost himself. He lost his past & everything that made him who he was. He didn’t even know his name. And now he no longer tried to remember.

 

\----------

A bucket of ice cold water startled the boy awake, his body jolting upward just as the pain in his head caused him to curl back into himself. Pain, there was so much pain already.

“Time for your lesson in respect, boy.”

Murphy was pulled to his feet, the big man grabbing at his shirt & ripping it from his small torso, tossing the torn fabric across the room. He began to shiver, chilled not only from lying on the cold dirt floor for hours but from the icy cold water now dripping from his body. The shivering increased as his fear increased, his body racked with uncontrollable tremors.

The man circled him, like a wild animal smelling blood, occasionally poking at him for a reaction. Murphy stood perfectly still, his eyes watching, his lip quivering in anticipation. The man stopped directly in front of him & slowly unhooked his belt buckle, pulling the heavy leather belt from his pants. He folded the belt & began to slap it in his palm, over and over, each hit a bit harder.

“What’s your fucking name, you piece of shit?” the man whispered as he again circled the bleeding boy, taunting him with the smacking of the leather in his hand. “Don’t disobey me or it’ll be the belt. Tell me your name, boy.”

When Murphy didn’t respond, the snap of the belt signaled the beginning of the pain. He cried out as the leather hit the pale skin of his back, a deep red mark blemishing his body & causing him to recoil. Another slap of the belt was coupled with the buckle piercing his flesh, causing the boy to collapse to the ground as his tears began.

Murphy tried to crawl away from the belt, from the man wielding it like a weapon, but the big man pushed his knee into the small of Murphy’s back & pressed his body into the dirt. The belt hit his skin repeatedly, the man holding nothing back, each lash deep & bloody.

Murphy was wailing in pain, his nails digging into the dirt, his tears in hot streaks down his face as he hyperventilated.

“Tell me your name.”

After a moment of listening to the child whimper, the man stood & put his belt back around his waist. He watched Murphy cry for a moment until he pushed at the boys shoulder with his boot, rolling him onto his back. Murphy closed his eyes tightly in agony as the dirt grinded into his open wounds, his back on fire, his body in danger of shutting down.

“Baby, please. Say your name and your daddy will stop.”

He could hear her soft voice in the distance, pulling him back from the darkness. He opened his eyes to see the woman looking down at him, watching him bleed in the dirt, her eyes also filled with tears. The big man was holding her back, preventing her from coming to his aid, stopping her from comforting him.

Murphy wanted to be held, he wanted her to comfort him, he wanted her to make it stop. She said she was his mom, she’d take care of him, she’d make it all better. His mom would stop his dad from hurting him again.

“Mom,” Murphy called to her, begging her for help with his eyes, his voice strained with effort.

She smiled at him & took a step toward the injured boy, her hand reaching out. He lifted his hand toward her but before she could touch him, the big man pulled her back. Murphy’s eyes filled with tears, he wanted his mom.

“Not yet,” the man ordered, keeping his grip tight on the woman’s arm as his eyes studied the young boy on the ground. “Not yet.”

The woman looked at the man, pulling in his grip, quietly arguing. “You heard him, he called me mom. He’s ours now. Let me go to him.”

“Tell me your name, boy,” the big man instructed with a push of his boot to the boy’s leg.

They both waited while Murphy looked from one to the other. He knew his name, why did he have to say it? He didn’t understand what was happening. He took a deep breath, the pain in his body intensifying with his effort as his mouth formed the name they had waited months to hear.

“My name is Mur, Murphy. Murphy Martin. My name is Murphy Martin.”


	9. Pictures

“Show me my boy, detective,” Annabelle quietly instructed, her voice quivering with emotion as she struggled to hold back her tears. She blindly reached for Connor’s hand & instantly found it, his steady hold giving her the strength she couldn’t find within herself. “Show me my Murphy.”

Annabelle & Connor sat across the table from the detective, both shaking, both trying to be patient as they waited to see the artist’s rendering of how Murphy would look at age 16. Annabelle steadied herself, her hand trembling in her oldest twin’s grip, both sets of MacManus eyes wide & eager.

The detective hesitated, thumbing the folder containing the picture, reluctant to show them what they so desperately wanted to see. He wished he could spare them the pain, the renewed sense of loss they would feel, the tears that would most certainly be shed. His eyes conveyed not only his reluctance, but his empathy.

“Annabelle. Connor. This is going to be hard to see,” the detective warned, trying to prepare them for what they were about to view. “You still picture Murphy as 10 years old. And even though you know he’ll be 16 in a couple weeks, it’ll still be hard to wrap your mind around it.”

Annabelle leaned forward, her voice firm, her eyes more intense that the detective had ever seen. “You don’t have to remind me that I’ve been robbed of the last six years of my son’s life. I know this, Ron, I live this every day. I know he’s older, I know he’s changed and I know he’s not my innocent little baby anymore.”

As the detective looked away from the heartache in the woman’s eyes, Annabelle reached for his hand, covering it with her own. “I know this will hurt but I need to see it. So please…..show me my baby. Show me my Murphy.”

Ron stared into the woman’s eyes, nodding slowly before he looked at the teenage boy at her side, gauging if he was strong enough to see his twin brother’s age progression photo. Connor stared back, his jaw set, his gaze unwavering. Yes, this boy was strong, he could take it, both mother and son were filled with the same determination. The detective pulled the picture from the folder, pausing only briefly before turning it & setting in on the table in front of the MacManus family.

Annabelle thought she was prepared to see Murphy at age 16. She was not.

Annabelle inhaled sharply, her hand going to her mouth, tears clouding her vision before quickly overflowing her eyes and streaming down her face. She stared at her son’s picture through those tears, her choking sobs echoing in the room, her painful sounds reflecting six years of loss, six years of pain, six fucking years of heartache.

“My baby…..my baby,” she moaned over and over, not even realizing she was speaking.

Connor was snuffling next to her, his sobs shaking his body as his eyes lingered on the face that was not only his twin, but his best friend. Tears leaked from his eyes as he quietly moaned only one word. “Murph.”

Murphy at age 16 was a surreal site, a concept they could barely fathom, an image they dared not imagine before today. The drawing was so real, so lifelike, it looked more like a photograph than an artistic sketch. Murphy looked like Connor, but didn’t look like Connor at the same time. Annabelle reached for the picture, her fingers stroking Murphy’s face gently as they ghosted over the paper.

They stared at a 16 year old Murphy, his baby face now more angular, his cheekbones more prominent, his jawline that of a young man. The artist had darkened Murphy’s hair to an almost auburn color & it was longer than Annabelle would have allowed him to keep it, hanging down to his collar but shorter on top, pushed slightly off to the side from his forehead. 

But it was Murphy’s eyes that caused the intense reaction in his family. The artist captured Murphy’s eyes perfectly, their unique shape, the playful glint Connor was certain would still be there, the sparkle. Those eyes seemed to look directly into Connor’s soul and they called to his twin to find him, he needed Connor, where was he? Connor felt his body shudder & he angrily wiped away his tears, his soul crying back to his lost brother……he was still looking, he loved Murphy, _he’d find him._

Connor was lost in his brother’s eyes and he jumped when Annabelle softly mumbled, “He looks very handsome, don’t you think Connor?”

Connor glanced at his mother before his eyes returned to his brother’s picture, again scanning the image. He nodded, Connor would bet his life Murphy looked just like this picture, he didn’t know why, but he just knew it. They commented quietly to each other, amazed at how the artist was able to not only reflect an older Murphy, but she was able to capture Murphy’s being, his essence. She brought to life that which made Murphy Murphy.

“It’s perfect, Ma. I bet Murph looks just like this.”

Annabelle nodded in agreement, taking a tissue from her pocket & wiping at Connor’s face. She took his chin in her hand & turned his head toward her but his eyes stayed on the picture, they stayed glued to his brother’s blue eyes. “It is perfect, aye. We’re going to find him, Connor. Now you stop your crying, Murphy needs us to be strong.”

Connor took a deep breath, willing himself to stop crying, forcing himself to be the man his mother needed him to be. He knew Murphy was still alive, he knew it the same way he knew the sky was blue. It just was. And after six years, he never once doubted that he’d find his twin, he knew he would. And now it seemed closer than ever before.

They gave their approval for an immediate media release, the detective giving them a copy of Murphy’s picture to take home. Connor put his brother’s picture on the refrigerator, placing it just slightly below his eye level, imagining Murphy just a bit shorter than he was. Every day Connor talked to that picture as if it were Murphy himself, every day he stared at it, every day he promised his brother he was almost home.

For the next couple weeks, Murphy’s age progression picture was everywhere. His story was again shown on television, news articles were written about his disappearance, posters were in every public building. Annabelle and Connor gave countless interviews, they appeared on tv begging for any information, no matter how inconsequential it seemed. And they prayed practically nonstop, ignoring the ache in their knees, their fingers clutching worn rosaries.

Connor turned 16 during this time, as did Murphy, but it was again a bitter-sweet birthday. There was no Murphy to celebrate with, no Murphy coming home, no Murphy period. Annabelle stayed sober for this birthday, certain Murphy would be home to celebrate with his brother and she spent days putting up elaborate birthday decorations in the kitchen for his return. But when Murphy didn’t come home, when Murphy remained on the missing list, the decorations were ripped down & the birthday cake was thrown against the wall in her rage.

Connor spent the night of his sixteenth birthday washing cake off the kitchen wall and trying not to cry his eyes out. He was unsuccessful. Connor MacManus curled into a ball on the kitchen floor and stared at the picture on the refrigerator. And he cried for hours.

The media began to slowly quiet down & Murphy’s picture again disappeared from public view, only the occasional tattered poster remaining. Connor spent his free time replacing the posters with fresh ones but there were no new leads, only silence. Life had moved on yet again. But for the MacManus family, life remained frozen & cold, filled with nothing but enduring pain and the undying need for the return of their youngest.

 

\----------

 

The school yearbook was thrown onto the kitchen table, startling Murphy & causing him to jump to his feet and quickly move away from his father, dragging the chair across the floor to maneuver it between himself & the big man.

“You defiant little shit,” his father roared, his fist slamming down onto the yearbook & causing the milk from Murphy’s glass to spill over the sides, his dinner plate rattling from the impact. “You just couldn’t listen, could you?”

Murphy took a step back, his eyes wide with the fear no child should ever know. His body shook, his mouth went dry, he felt like he couldn’t breathe. Whenever his father was in the room, Murphy had the same reaction, each and every time. He cursed himself, he had just turned 16, he should be able to stand up to his prick of a father without shitting himself.

“What did my baby do now?” his mom quietly asked from where she stood at the sink, her mouth in a thin line as she waited for her husband’s answer, wiping her hands on her apron.

“Take a look at what your precious little _baby_ did.” The man opened the yearbook to the middle, quickly flipping the pages past the school pictures, stopping at the letter M. He pointed at a picture, tapping it repeatedly. “There he is, clear as day. There’s your defiant little fucker.”

She looked to where he pointed, her mouth hanging open as she paled. Above the name _Murphy Martin_ was a smiling picture of the boy who was shaking in fear across the room  & considering running out the door. She picked up the book to get a closer look, wanting to tell him that it was a nice picture because it truly was, but knowing she couldn’t say what she felt, given the circumstance.

“Oh, that’s not the only picture he’s in either,” the man announced, yanking the book from his wife’s grasp and showing her two other pictures. “Here he is feeding those stupid rabbits the school let him take care of last term and here’s one of him & his loser friends in art class.”

“Oh, Murphy,” she said with a shake of her head, knowing his punishment would be the worst by far. “Why didn’t you listen?”

Every year it was the same. Every year his mom made him stay home & miss picture day, forbidding him from being in the yearbook. And every time the school rescheduled those who missed their pictures, he again was forced to stay home. But this year, he lied. This year he told her the wrong day for the rescheduled pictures. This year he let himself be photographed.

Murphy stood taller, trying to look & sound confident even though he was neither. “I’m never in the yearbook. Everyone thinks it’s weird and I just wanted to be in there this time. I just wanted to be normal.”

The woman ignored his explanation, not swayed by the boy’s words in the least, his need to feel like a normal teenager barely registering in her mind. “Maybe we can get Murphy’s picture deleted before the yearbook is distributed to everyone. Maybe no one will even see him.”

The man threw the book back onto the table, his eyes blazing with the fires of hell. “The book’s been out for over a month. There’s nothing we can do about it now.”

Murphy made a face, not understanding why his parents forbade him from the yearbook, not understanding why he couldn’t be like every other kid he knew. “I don’t see what the big deal is. It’s just a picture or two. Only my friends will see it.”

“Watch your mouth, boy. You’re in enough trouble as it is,” the man warned as he pulled the chair from Murphy’s grip & tossed it to the side. Murphy backed up as the man moved closer, cringing as the man’s fist grabbed him by the hair & pulled him violently close to his face, glaring into the boy’s eyes. Murphy glared back briefly but his father was the most intimidating man he’d ever known, he knew what he was capable of, what pain he could cause. Murphy bit his lip & relented, submissively looking down.

He really hated his father, he hated him with all his heart, he wished he was fucking dead.

The man’s fist tightened in Murphy’s hair as he pressed his forehead against the boy’s head, “You better learn your fucking place boy, or I’ll put you six feet under. You really fucked up this time.”

“It’s just a picture in my yearbook, it’s not a big deal,” Murphy mumbled as he tried to pull his hair free from the painful grip, tried to twist away from the punishment he knew was building. He glanced at his father but quickly looked away from the contemptible stare, his father was already planning his abuse.

“It’s a very big deal, Murphy,” the woman explained as she moved to stand next to them. “We can’t have you acting this way. You’re disobedient, you’re disrespectful & defiant. We’ve had enough of your bad behavior.”

Murphy knew his mother wouldn’t protect him from his father’s discipline, not after what she just said. But then again, she rarely protected him from the big man. He tied to pull from the man’s grip but he yanked Murphy back by his hair, causing Murphy to grimace in pain. This was just the beginning.

“I know you don’t understand but you could ruin everything we’ve worked so hard for,” the woman said in a soothing voice. “Everything we did for you, everything we sacrificed for you would be destroyed. We can’t allow that, Murphy.”

“It’s just a picture,” Murphy whined, confusion in his eyes, in his voice. He ignored the pain his father was causing & instead focused on his mother, his eyes pleading with her for compassion. “How could a picture of your son be that bad?”

The woman smiled & pet Murphy’s hair, her hand moving to cup his cheek as her thumb stroked his skin. He smiled back at her, thinking he got through to her, maybe she’d help him this time, maybe she’d stop the pain before it really began. Maybe this time his mom would save him.

The woman lowered her hand, her face suddenly going slack & Murphy felt his blood run cold. She took a step away from Murphy & looked at the big man, her voice flat & cold.

“Punish him.”


	10. The Belt

He saw her looking at the belt, her green eyes reflecting shock and possibly pity. Shit, he should have taken it down and hidden it from view. No one needed to see his _“reminder,”_ especially her.

She slowly walked to where it hung from a nail on the wall, pausing briefly before reaching up and taking it in her delicate hand. She turned it over and recoiled at the sight of the dried blood along the back side of the leather, Murphy’s dried blood. She stood in place as her thumb lightly ran across the red stains, her eyes unblinking at the horror she held in her trembling grasp.

Murphy didn’t know what to do or what to say. How do you explain a belt covered in layers of blood hanging on the wall like a fucking picture? She wasn’t dumb, she had to know why his father hung a belt on the wall and she had to know it was used on him. If only he had thought to take it down but he was accustomed to seeing it hanging there on display, it’d been on that same nail for years. He only thought about the belt when his father took it off the nail to discipline him, which was a fairly common occurrence.

He shifted on his feet, watching her while he waited for her reaction, his toe tapping nervously on the tiled floor. He’d never brought a girl home before; she was the first one ever, even though he was a ripe old age of 15. He still couldn’t believe someone as pretty as Emily wanted to skip school with him. When he asked her to come over he’d expected her to laugh in his face but she didn’t, all she did was smile and ask if they’d be alone. He told her they’d have the house to themselves, they could do whatever they wanted and no one would be home before four. His father was working and his mother was shopping all day in town, it all worked out brilliantly. Until Emily saw the fucking belt.

“That’s a joke, by the way,” Murphy explained as Emily released the belt from her hand and watched it quietly slap against the wall. “It’s not real blood or anything. It’s fake.”

She turned to look at him and he could see the disbelief in her eyes. She knew it wasn’t a joke. She knew it wasn’t covered in fake blood. She knew what it was and what it was used for. She fucking knew.

“I figured it was from Halloween or something,” she said with a dismissive scoff toward the belt and a shrug of her shoulder, her smile gentle and kind. “Guess you forgot to take it down, huh?”

He couldn’t believe she gave him the excuse he needed, even though they both knew it was bullshit. “Yeah, I forgot it was even up there. I’ll take it down now.”

He wanted that belt off the wall but he never had the guts to do it before today. It was horrible to have to walk by it every day, to have it in his line of sight when he ate at the kitchen table, to have it just hanging there waiting to be used on him. His father named it _“Murphy’s Little Reminder.”_ It was there to remind Murphy to do what his father told him, to quit being a fuck up and to “be a good boy,” like his mother always whined.

But now he was going to be defiant, he was going to do what he’d wanted to do for years. He was going to take that fucking belt and throw it in the garbage. And that’s just what he did. His hands shook a bit but he didn’t think Emily noticed. If she ever met his father, she’d understand why he shook though, he was a mean fuck.

When he turned back toward the prettiest girl he’d ever seen, that’s when it happened. She walked right up to him and kissed him full on the lips, tongue and all. He didn’t know why she chose that moment to kiss him and he really didn’t fucking care, all he knew was her tongue was in his mouth and her breasts were pressed against his chest. And he liked it.

They kissed for a while with Murphy leaning his back against the kitchen counter and Emily leaning against his body, each becoming quickly overheated and red in the face. When they finally came up for air, she mumbled something about wanting to move to the couch as she hooked her fingers into the belt loops on his jeans and pulled. She walked backwards, pulling him along by his pants and he let her lead him to the living room. When she reached the couch, she pulled him on top of her with a hard tug on his trousers and a soft giggle from her mouth.

They instantly resumed their eager kissing along with tentative touching and rubbing, their shoes kicked off and their shirts soon joining the shoes on the floor. Murphy wasn’t thinking, he was only paying attention to the girl beneath him, her mouth, her body, what she was doing with her hands and he quickly lost all concept of time.

No one should have been home for hours, they should have had plenty of time, it wasn’t even two o’clock. Murphy never heard the car pull up, he never heard the back door open and he never heard the footsteps that signaled the arrival of his parents into the living room. How could he possibly have heard anything over his own heavy breathing and Emily’s soft moans? His focus was solely on what was happening on the couch and nothing more.

The hand in his hair shocked him away from the girl and what she was doing, it ripped him from the pleasure and introduced him to the pain. It wasn’t her soft hand playfully tugging on his hair like when they first started kissing, this was a heavy hand, this was a hand that knew how to inflict terrible pain, this was a hand that knew no mercy.

The hand pulled Murphy off the girl and he stumbled backwards across the floor, skidding on his butt as he was dragged away toward the kitchen. He hated that his father always grabbed him by his hair; it fucking hurt which is probably why he did it.

Emily gasped and sat up, trying to cover herself as she reached for her shirt on the floor, looking wide eyed at Murphy as he struggled to free himself from the tight grip of his father. When they reached the kitchen, he was lifted to his feet as his father pulled the chair out from the table, pushing him onto it and forcing him to sit. The big man pointed his finger in the skinny boy’s face and commanded him to stay put as he moved to return to the living room.

Murphy could hear his mother in the next room chastising Emily, calling her a tease, telling her to get dressed and get out of her house. The commotion was quickly followed by the sound of the front door and the return of his parents.

“Where’s the belt?” His father pointed at the nail on the wall where the belt used to wait. Of course he’d notice the missing belt, it was his favorite thing in the whole world. “You better answer me, boy.”

Murphy stood up, glaring as defiantly as he could as his father waited for an answer, trying to be as brave as possible. His voice was louder than he expected but the tremor gave away the fear he held in his heart. “I threw it in the fucking garbage. Where it belongs.”

His father stormed across the kitchen to retrieve the belt, Murphy moving in the opposite direction toward the living room to create distance. He never knew why he tried to get away, he was never successful at avoiding a beating. But he hoped that maybe, just once, he’d be able to escape the pain. Maybe this time he wouldn’t hurt for days afterward.

As his father dug in the garbage, Murphy decided he had to leave, his father was red faced with fury over the removal of the belt. Murphy had never been so defiant before, he had talked back plenty of times, he’d even tried to get away, but he’d never before had the nerve to so boldly throw away the abusive tool known as his father’s belt. This beating was sure to be vicious, his father was in a borderline blind rage.

Murphy walked toward the living room, toward the front door, toward the freedom that was so close yet so far. His mother grabbed him by his arm as he passed by her and he paused to look at her, shocked that she stopped him. She never stopped him before when he tried to run, she never helped him, but she never stopped him either. She knew what was about to happen, she knew his father would beat him again. She knew but she still stopped him from leaving.

“The little whore is gone, Murphy.”

He angrily pulled away from her and she grabbed at him again, her nails digging into the bare flesh of his arm as she turned him around to face her once again. “Don’t you walk away from me, young man. I’m your mother.”

“I wish you weren’t!” Murphy yelled back, his words causing her to freeze in shock. He meant what he said, he wished she wasn’t his mom, he meant it and she knew he meant it. He stared at her, waiting for her to let him go but instead of releasing him, he felt her nails dig deeper into his skin.

The slap across his face was a shock to him, the smacking of her hand on his pale cheek was loud, the stinging in his face instantaneous. She wasn’t a large woman but she hit him as hard as she could and his head turned to the side from the power of her blow, her rings leaving marks on his skin.

“Don’t you ever say that again, Murphy!” she yelled and when he turned back to face her, she slapped him again just as hard as the first time. His head dipped and he glared at her through the hair that was hanging in his eyes, beads of sweat on his brow making his auburn hair look even darker.

She paused at the look in the teenager’s eyes, surprised that he took her slaps with no resistance, he didn’t fight her like he did the big man. She didn’t like his teenage attitude, the look on his face, the glare in his eye.

“Wipe that look off your face, Murphy.”

But he didn’t change his glare. On the contrary, his eyes narrowed in a challenge. And when he saw her pull her hand back for another hit, he stood stoically waiting for the impact. With that third slap, her rings cut him across his cheekbone, a thin trickle of blood stark red against his skin as it slowly ran down his face.

He clenched his jaw shut to prevent himself from talking back and he looked at her through hurt eyes, her eyes looking back at him with anger. Murphy couldn’t believe it, she’d never hit him before and now she’d done it three times in a row.

The movement of his father from across the room snapped Murphy back to action. The bleeding on his face would be nothing compared to what his father would do to him if he caught him. Murphy pulled his arm away as hard as he could as his mother attempted to remain clenched to his skin. Her nails left red stripes on his bicep that matched the thin stripe of blood on his face.

Murphy ran to the front door, hearing his father’s heavy boots quickly following. He had to get out, he was fast, and if he got outside he could run away. He pulled on the door but it didn’t open, his mother had locked it when Emily left. The deadbolt was in place and Murphy fumbled with the lock as he desperately tried to open the door. But he wasn’t quick enough, the lock always stuck and this time was no exception.

His father grabbed Murphy with his preferred grip, by the hair, and he flung him against the wall. The family picture that hung on that wall, the one with the fake smile Murphy had plastered on his face, fell to the ground with a loud crash of breaking glass. Before he could scramble away, the boot was in his side, the bruising kicks cracking one of Murphy’s ribs. The boy struggled to breathe as another kick caused another crack of a rib, the loud snap of pain causing Murphy to clutch at his sides and moan.

When the kicks stopped, he looked up at his parents from the floor still clutching his ribs. They were both looking down at him, his mother suddenly seeming concerned by the state of the child cowering from the big man’s boot. She turned to say something to his father, the big man’s attention drawn away from the child and Murphy quickly got to his feet and ran.

He ran in the only direction he could go, the only direction that wasn’t blocked by his parents. He ran up the stairs toward his room, he’d lock himself in the bathroom if he had to, there was a small lock on the door that might keep his father out. He had to try.

Murphy barely remembered being at the top of the stairs. He barely remembered his father catching him before he got close to the bathroom. He barely remembered being thrown down the stairs by the big man. All Murphy remembered was the expression on his mother’s face as he tumbled back down toward her, his body twisting as he fell and hitting each step with different parts of his body.

“Your son is waking up, Mrs. Martin,” the soft voice was nearby and Murphy struggled to open his eyes, recognizing the medicinal smell of the hospital that filled his nose. “Take it easy, son. You had quite the fall down the stairs.”

Murphy looked at the man next to him, obviously a doctor, he had a white coat and stethoscope. The doctor put his hand gently on his shoulder and patted it, “You’ll be fine, just a couple broken ribs and a whole lot of bruises. You also might get a headache due to your concussion. You hit your head pretty hard.”

“It was awful seeing him fall like that. He scared us so badly,” his mom explained to the doctor from the other side of the cot. Her warm hand cupped the clammy skin of his cheek and he flinched in reaction to her hand. “Stop that, Murphy. It’s your mom.”

He glanced at her and bit his lip, willing himself to stay still, wondering how he got to the hospital. And why. They’d never taken him to the hospital before, no matter how badly they hurt him, he’d never been given any medical attention of any kind. Why was this time different?

That’s when he noticed the policeman standing in the doorway, watching him. Murphy could see his father standing in the hall behind the officer, his eyes a pinpoint focus on Murphy. It was a warning.

Murphy found out Emily told her father how Murphy had been dragged away by his hair and how scared she was that he’d be hurt. He’d come to the house to check on Murphy, to make sure he wasn’t being beaten and that’s why the ambulance was called. The man had arrived to find Murphy lying unconscious at the bottom of the stairs.

The officer wanted to speak to Murphy. Alone. And when it was just him and the policeman, when he was asked what happened, Murphy lied. He said he tripped and fell down the stairs, it was his own fault, no one else’s. He wasn’t hit, he fell. Murphy lied.

That night he went home with his parents. Back to the house of pain. Back to the house of torture.

His father grabbed him by the back of the neck and squeezing painfully, he pushed Murphy into the kitchen. There on the floor was the blood stained belt, lying where his father had dropped it, just waiting for Murphy.

Murphy was forced to put his “reminder” back on the wall. After the beating.


	11. Run

That’s it, he has to fucking leave and that’s all there is to it. He has to get the fuck out of here before the big man kills him.

Murphy stared at what he’d done with an odd sense of pride and satisfaction mixed with a heaping dose of apprehension. He really shouldn’t have dumped his father’s whiskey down the drain, it was a stupid thing to do, really fucking stupid. He knew what would happen when his father came home and saw the empty bottles in the sink, he knew his father would beat him but Murphy still emptied every single bottle in the house…..every drop went down the drain.

He took a deep breath to calm his nerves as his fingers dug into the edge of the porcelain sink. Fuck, he was stupid. _Stupid, stupid, stupid._ He should have come up with a plan before he dumped the booze, he should have thought things through and decided where to go first. He’d acted without thinking, just like always. And now it was too late, the damage was done and he was fucked.

His eyes danced over the cluster of empty bottles as sunlight from the window created prisms and rainbow effects, the beauty of the colors a sharp contrast with the darkness that lived in this house. He choked back bitter tears…..life was so unfair. Why did he have to be born into this fucked up family? His father was a sadistic, abusive asshole and his mother was a crazy woman who let it happen. It was too much for any person to take, let alone a 16 year old.

The abuse had grown in the past year, it was more violent and Murphy knew it was his fault. He was defiant and fought his father on everything; Murphy even did things on purpose just to piss him off. And as a result, he had more bruises to hide…..dark purple bruises on his face and body that were too numerous to explain with his old _“I’m a clumsy kid”_ excuse. So he picked fights with boys from school to hide the bruises his father gave him.

Murphy could handle being called a worthless little fuck, he sort of believed it anyway. He could handle being locked in the root cellar for days, he wasn’t scared of it anymore, not really. He could even handle the beatings and the belt. He was used to the pain and he knew how to hide the bruises.

But his father had started to use a knife. And the knife scared Murphy.

It started about a month ago when Murphy was locked in the root cellar for skipping school. He spent the night shivering in the dark and when his father came the next morning to punish him further, Murphy fought back. After his father beat him into submission, he pulled Murphy’s pants down and slowly put deep cuts along his thighs, staining Murphy’s skin red with his blood. Each cut of the knife made Murphy scream and ever since then, the knife became a regular thing.

His father ended the past couple beatings by putting the knife to Murphy’s throat and making little cuts on his neck while threatening to cut Murphy’s dick next. Murphy was scared he wouldn’t survive another punishment, he was scared the big man might make good on his threats. Murphy was scared his father would kill him.

 _Fuck this and fuck him._ It was settled. Murphy would pack his shit and be long gone by the time the fucker got home.

 

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There wasn’t a whole lot Murphy wanted to take with him, which was lucky considering how little his knapsack could actually hold. He wanted to remember his friends so he grabbed his yearbook and shoved it on top of the clean change of clothes already inside. Next was the only thing he truly cared about, the only thing of value to him, the only thing that made him happy. His drawings. He had dozens of sketch books but there were only two books he wouldn’t leave behind, only two that were irreplaceable.

He hid them beneath a floorboard years ago to keep them safe from his father and he knew exactly where they were…..three slats from his bed and two from the wall. He lifted the floorboard and pulled the books free, smiling as his hand brushed the dust off the worn cover. He paused to thumb through the pages, some of the edges torn but the drawings just as vibrant as when they were first done…..some almost six years old and some six days old.

He gazed at the face that filled the sketchbooks, the face he remembered but didn’t remember, the face of a ten year old boy he called Connor. Some pages had dozens of drawings of that face and some pages were strictly a solitary portrait. But his favorite drawings were the ones with both of them together, smiling like the brothers he pretended they were.

Shit, he was such a fucking dork. Connor wasn’t real, he only existed in Murphy’s mind and in his sketchbooks. He was the brother Murphy dreamed up to get him through his beatings, someone he pretended loved him because no one else did. Connor wasn’t somewhere worrying about him, he wasn’t thinking about him right now…..Connor was only a drawing in a sketchbook, nothing more.

Murphy sighed loudly to himself, feeling like an idiot. He was 16 and running away from home with pictures of his imaginary brother in his knapsack. What a fucking baby. If not for what his father did to him, the situation might be comical.

His father…..fuck. Murphy was losing time, he had to go. He shoved the sketchbooks into the knapsack, put on his jean jacket and grabbed what little money he had before stopping in the kitchen to take the grocery money from the cookie jar. There wasn’t much in there but it would have to do. He packed some food into his bag, threw it on his shoulder and practically ran from the house.

He had to get as far away from here as he could. He couldn’t involve his friends, they’d ask too many questions that Murphy didn’t want to answer. He couldn’t ask for help from anyone, not without risking being returned home. And he wouldn’t survive if he was returned home. He had to start over in a new town where no one knew him.

Murphy studied the map at the bus station before deciding on a town two hours away. It was an easy decision, actually. He had enough money to get there and for some odd reason, it just felt right. There was something about that town that called to him, like he belonged there.

 

\----------

 

Two hours away, in the town Murphy was headed for, Connor began his Saturday with cinnamon toast. He always ate cinnamon toast when he felt good and today he felt fucking fantastic.

He dreamt of Murphy last night, one of those dreams that made him spring from his bed covered in sweat, one of those dreams that seemed like a premonition or an omen. In his dream, Connor heard his brother calling to him as he walked through a thick fog, unable to see anything. Murphy’s voice got louder and louder until the fog suddenly parted and Connor saw him in the distance, just waiting. As Connor ran toward his brother, Murphy’s face got clearer with each step, his eyes radiant, his smile beaming, his arms open wide for a hug. In his dream, Connor found Murphy. In his dream, Connor finally brought Murphy home.

Connor took a deep breath as he remembered that dream. That dream renewed his determination, it renewed his faith. Maybe today was _the day,_ maybe today he’d find his brother. He had a stack of new posters of a 16 year old Murphy and he was set to go looking anywhere and everywhere for his missing twin.

Connor quickly finished his breakfast and yelled down the hall to his ma, wishing her a good day at work before pulling on his sneakers and rushing from the house. He didn’t want to delay any longer, Murphy was waiting to be found.

Today felt lucky, really fucking lucky.

 

\----------

 

Murphy pulled out his sketchbook and settled into his seat on the bus, preparing for the two hour ride to freedom. He couldn’t believe his luck, it was usually shit but today it finally turned the corner. He had an empty seat next to him, the lady across the aisle said he looked sweet and bought him a soda and even though he forgot to pack his pencils, he found one tucked into the bottom of the front flap of his knapsack. He flipped to a clean page and as the bus pulled away, he began to draw Connor.

Murphy almost always drew Connor smiling, that’s how he remembered him. No, he didn’t remember him, Connor wasn’t real. It’s how he pictured him. Smiling…..he pictured Connor smiling.

“Who’s that?” the nice lady across the aisle asked an hour into the trip, her eyes studying the drawing. Murphy tended to lose himself whenever he had a pencil in his hand and he wondered how long she was watching him before she spoke.

He held the sketchpad up for her to get a better look and he thought about how to respond. He didn’t want to sound weird by saying it was his imaginary brother, even though that’s what Connor was. But no one knew him where he was going so why couldn’t he pretend a bit? Why couldn’t he pretend just a while longer that someone out there loved him? That one person on this earth gave a shit about what happened to him?

“It’s my brother. His name is Connor.”

She nodded with a smile that reached her eyes, her appreciation of his talent obvious. “It’s really quite good. Connor will love it.”

Murphy turned the picture to study it himself, wishing he could actually show Connor the drawing. “Thank you.” He felt the warmth of a blush cover his face; he’d never shown anyone his Connor drawings before, only _his_ mind knew what Connor looked like. He quietly resumed drawing and by the time the bus pulled into town, the new portrait was complete.

When Murphy got off the bus, he realized he didn’t know what to do or where to go. He was free but freedom wasn’t easy when you had no money and no place to stay. He decided to walk around town and get a feel for the place before he made any decisions. Maybe his luck would hold and a brilliant idea would hit him.

 

\----------

 

She walked down the street toward the bar where her husband was waiting with a cold beer, her mind occupied with thoughts of the shy boy from the bus. He was so sweet but obviously something had happened to him, something terrible. His face was horribly bruised, he had cuts on his neck and hands and he moved like his ribs hurt. He kept his jacket on the entire trip even though the bus was very warm and she was certain he did that to hide his other injuries, whatever they may be.

She wished she knew how to help him but she’d seen boys like him before. If she pushed, he’d run. He was probably already running, by the looks of him. And she didn’t want to be the one to send him back to the hell that gave him those injuries, the hell he ran away from. He was better off living on the street.

As she reached The Anvil, she glanced over her shoulder to look for the boy. He had started out walking in her direction but now he was gone. She had hoped to talk him into letting her buy him a sandwich, or even just a bag of pretzels….. _something._ He looked like he didn’t eat well and the mother in her wanted to feed him.

She stood outside for a few minutes just to look for him but he was nowhere to be seen. She sighed, at least he didn’t notice the money she slipped into his jacket when they stood to leave. At least he’d be able to eat today.

 

\----------

 

Connor’s feet were killing him but his heart hurt worse. He honestly thought he’d find Murph today. He had that dream and everything, he should have found him by now. But it was only lunchtime, the day was young and he wouldn’t lose faith. Today could still be the day.

It was weird. Usually by now Connor would have seen at least two or three guys who from a distance looked like Murphy but today he hadn’t seen one. Not one. And that was unusual. It was like a sign of some kind…..he wouldn’t see any Murphy look-a-like today, only the real Murphy. At least that’s what he hoped.

He had a list of places he still wanted to look and a stack of flyers to post on the telephone poles during his travels but first he’d stop at The Anvil for a cold soda and a visit with Uncle Sibeal. He needed to take a quick five minute break before heading back out.

Connor sat at the bar quenching his thirst and explaining his sad demeanor to his uncle. Sibeal was always encouraging and like Connor, he never doubted for one moment that Murphy would come home, one day their prayers would be answered.

“I know.....I got to believe,” Connor said with conviction, his belief just as strong and unshakeable as ever. It was like Murphy just felt closer somehow, like he was so fucking close but just out of reach. Connor sighed and straightened the stack of flyers bearing his brother’s age progression face. “I just want him home, you know?”

His uncle patted Connor’s hand before turning his attention to the lady approaching the bar with a menu in her hand, obviously wanting to order food for herself and her husband. Connor didn’t even look up, he just stared at Murphy’s face while he waited for the woman to place her order and leave.

But she didn’t leave. Sibeal left to place her order with the cook but the woman remained at Connor’s side. Connor couldn’t figure out why she was just standing there, what the fuck was she doing? He finally turned his head to look at her just as her hand reached for a flyer, her eyes staring at Murphy’s picture.

“What’s the flyer for?” she quietly asked, as she studied Murphy’s face with a strange expression, almost like she saw a ghost.

Connor took a deep breath and began the explanation he’d said at least a million times. The explanation that always brought tears to his eyes. The explanation that hurt just as much today as it did six fucking years ago.

The woman quietly listened as he told her about Murphy and how he’d been taken, how the picture was an age progression, how Connor was looking for his brother even now, six years after he disappeared. He always finished the same way with the same two questions. “Does he look familiar to you at all? Have you seen my brother Murphy?”

Connor expected the answer he’d heard each time he asked those questions. He expected a polite no, maybe an apology, probably a sympathetic look. What he got was something completely different and unexpected. What he got was a miracle.

“Yes, I’ve seen him. He sat across the aisle from me on the bus.”


	12. He's Close

Six. Connor spent the first six minutes of his life living in a world without Murphy. As a newborn babe, he screamed for his baby brother those entire six minutes, his face beet red and his hands in tiny little fists. Only when Murphy was placed safely in the crib by his side, only when he felt his brother’s presence and heard his soft cooing, only then did Connor relax. Connor doesn’t remember those first six minutes of his life but that fear, that sense of loss and the need to protect his younger half was burned into his soul that day.

Six. Connor spent the past six years living in a world not knowing where Murphy was. He spent his formative years in overwhelming agony with his soul screaming for his other half, his mind imagining the most terrible things and his lonely heart breaking on a daily basis. It was six years of searching, six years of crying, six years of pure fucking torture that felt never ending. Connor was completely lost without Murphy by his side and he moved through the years with one sole purpose…..he had to bring his brother home.

Six. Connor spent the last six hours pacing from one end of the pub to the other and trying not to vomit, the best words he ever heard still ringing in his ears….. _“Yes, I’ve seen him. He sat across the aisle from me on the bus.”_ Connor could barely believe the woman, it felt too good to be true and he was afraid to get his hopes up only to have them crash and burn. But she’d been insistent, she was certain that boy was Murphy and the shock of hearing her words still reverberated through Connor’s body and made him tingle with excitement. Each tick of the clock felt like an eternity as he waited anxiously to be reunited with his brother, his heart skipping a beat each time the door opened and then shattering into a million pieces when someone other than Murphy appeared.

The anticipation of seeing his twin for the first time since they were ten was killing Connor, his mind raced and his heart pounded in his chest. What would they say to each other? How would Murphy act, how different would he be? Would he let Connor hug him? Connor took a slow breath, willing himself to calm the fuck down and trust his instincts. It might be awkward at first but Murphy is his brother, the other half of his soul, his twin. He’d just focus on getting Murphy home and the rest would naturally fall into place.

But while the police searched, Connor nervously waited and wondered where the fuck his brother was and why he didn’t come straight to the pub. After all, the bus station was just down the street and all Murphy had to do was walk a few short blocks and he’d be here. Murphy couldn’t have forgotten where the pub was, they spent so much time here as children…..he just had to remember.

But while Connor may not have known exactly where Murphy was, he did know he was close. It wasn’t something he could explain, it was just something he knew, something he _felt_ deep in his heart. Murphy was closer than he’d been in years and it took every ounce of Connor’s strength to not go running like a crazy person though town like he’d done hours earlier, screaming Murphy’s name at the top of his lungs. Connor had returned to the pub broken hearted and without his brother, his tears cascading down his cheeks in hot streaks. Connor cried for Murphy every day since he was taken and today was no exception. As Connor struggled to regain some sort of composure, he came to a realization. He had to listen to the police and stay put in case Murphy came to the pub, just like his ma kept vigil at home for the same reason.

So the police searched and Connor waited, focusing his attention on the lady from the bus as she talked to a policeman about the brother he no longer knew, the twin he might not even recognize anymore. This lady had been nice to Murphy and Connor was thankful for that but there was also a large part of him that was incredibly jealous. She spent time with his brother, she looked into his eyes and she talked to him. She heard Murphy’s voice. Connor hadn’t heard Murphy’s voice in six years, it would be deeper now and Connor probably wouldn’t even recognize it anymore. Sadness gripped his heart with this thought…..Connor didn’t know the sound of his own twin’s voice. And that fucking killed him.

He slowly inched closer to the table as he drank in every word she spoke, enraptured with her description of Murphy’s personality and their brief interaction. Connor couldn’t help the grin that formed on his face when she called Murphy shy, his grin growing into a smile as he remembered how soft spoken and timid his twin could be around people he didn’t know. But that was Murph, quiet and shy until you got to know him then you couldn’t shut him up. It was one of Connor’s favorite things about his brother.

Connor beamed with pride at her description of Murphy’s artistic talent and his eyes filled with tears when she looked directly at him and told him what Murphy  
was drawing. Or more precisely, _who_ he was drawing.

“Me? He was drawing _me?”_ Connor was staggered by this information, this gem of knowledge, this wonderful gift this woman just handed him. Of all the things in the world Murphy could draw, he chose to draw Connor.

She smiled at the now shaking teenager, her manner gentle as she hoped her words would comfort him in some way. “He drew you much younger, maybe nine or ten years old, but it was definitely you.”

Connor could barely speak, his voice was choked with emotion as he quietly asked, “How--how do you know for sure it was me?”

She reached out for him and she took his hand in hers and he allowed her to pull him close to where she was sitting, her eyes steady and her grip firm. He stared into her eyes as he waited for her to continue, an unspoken prayer on his lips.

“I asked him who he was drawing. He said it was his brother. He said his name was Connor.” She squeezed his hand just as a muffled sob escaped Connor’s lips, his heart overflowing with joy. “It looked just like you, only younger. Your brother really is very talented.”

Murphy last saw Connor when they were ten…..it made sense he’d draw Connor at that age, that’s how he’d remember him. Connor’s head spun and his eyes blinked rapidly as he fought back the tears but quickly gave up that fight and let them fall unabated. He’d been afraid to believe wholeheartedly but here was the confirmation he needed. The boy this lady had talked to, the shy boy from the bus…..he really was Murphy. Holy fucking hell, that boy was Murph.

“Did he say anything else about me? Or our ma? Or where he’s been? Or—or anything?” His questions were rapid fire in a desperate attempt for knowledge. Connor wanted to know every detail as he failed to control his excitement. But how could he not be excited? How could he not be pissing himself right now? Murphy, his brother, his twin could walk through that door any second. After six of the worst years of his young life, Connor would soon set eyes on his baby brother once again. Murphy was coming home.

Her free hand covered his and she gently patted it, recognizing the love this boy had for his brother and his pain at their forced separation. “I’m so sorry, that’s all he said. He was very quiet.”

“Murph’s a bit shy,” Connor confirmed with a sad nod of his head, wishing his brother had said more. He looked a bit defeated as she again patted his hand and released it, his eyes returning to the closed door and envisioning Murphy just beyond. He had so many questions he needed answered, there were so many things he wanted to know. But he could wait. He could wait for Murphy to answer them.

“If I had known--” she began, wishing she hadn’t let that boy walk away from her. If only she had asked him more questions, if only she had insisted he come with her. If only she had known.

 

\----------

 

Everything looked so familiar.

Murphy tried to smother the eerie feeling crawling up his spine as he slowly walked around town but with each step he took, that feeling only grew stronger. Somehow he knew the name of every store, every coffee shop and every single street without even looking at the signs. But he shouldn’t know any of these things, he’d never been to this town before, not ever.

As he rounded another corner, he paused in front of a tiny pub and decided to test himself. His hand made its way to his mouth and he chewed nervously on his thumbnail, trying to convince himself he wouldn’t know the name of this place, it was impossible. Murphy stared at the door for only a moment before he felt a strange sense of comfort and an almost overwhelming desire to go inside. Of all the buildings he walked past, this one felt the most familiar, almost as if he spent an excessive amount of time here. It was inviting, it felt warm and safe and strangely enough, in some weird way, it almost felt like he belonged here.

Murphy gnawed harder on his thumb as he fidgeted in place and shifted his knapsack on his shoulder, his mind struggling for answers. Maybe he’s crazy. That makes sense, actually. His parents are crazy fuckers and he probably is too, he just didn’t know it until now. Being crazy explains a whole fucking lot, now that he thinks about it. It not only explains why everything is familiar when it shouldn’t be, it explains other things too. Like why he invented an imaginary brother named Connor and drew hundreds of pictures of him. Or why he sometimes feels like Connor misses him and is worried about him. It even explains his irrational sense of loss over a brother that exists only in his fucked up mind.

Murphy sighed and lowered his hand from his mouth, shaking his head at his own idiocy. Being crazy sure as hell doesn’t explain how he knows this pub is named The Anvil though. Or how he knows his way around town. Crazy couldn’t explain _any_ of that.

Murphy knows exactly why he invented Connor too, and it’s not because he’s crazy. He invented Connor because he was alone and scared and needed someone to live for when the big man beat him into unconsciousness. Murphy needed someone to love him when no one else did. Connor was the brother he always wanted, the best friend he needed and the family he wished he had. Having a make believe brother at age 16 wasn’t crazy at all, not when that “brother” was the reason he survived such terrible abuse. Besides, Murphy knows crazy when he sees it, he lived with it…..his own mother is a fucking nut job and his father isn’t much better.

So if he isn’t crazy, then…..maybe he’s been to this pub before but just doesn’t remember. That made sense. He has so many blank spots in his memory and this might be one of them. Maybe his parents brought him here to eat, maybe he’s been here dozens of times when he was younger. That’s why everything is so familiar and why he feels drawn to this pub in particular.

For the first time in hours, Murphy relaxed and breathed a sigh of relief, satisfied with the explanation he came up with. He rubbed his forehead and then the tight muscles in his neck, thankful he didn’t get his usual dizziness and pounding headache when he tried to remember something from one of those blank spots. He didn’t think to pack the medicine his mom gave him for his headaches so he was particularly thankful he wasn’t in any pain. It would be intolerable without that medicine.

The sound of his stomach growling startled him and as his eyes returned to the pub door, he contemplated going inside. He shouldn’t have any money left but about an hour ago he found a couple bills stuffed into his jacket pocket, presumably from the nice lady on the bus, and he pulled out the crumpled bills and quickly counted it. It wasn’t much money but pub food is usually inexpensive so he should be able to afford a sandwich at least. Maybe he could even get a hamburger or pizza, depending on the cost.

As he reached for the door, his knapsack shifted on his shoulder and he remembered the little bit of food he had packed inside…..an apple, a small bag of pretzels and some disgusting meatloaf his mom made the night before. But it was food. And it didn’t cost him anything.

He lowered his hand and quickly decided it was smarter to eat what he already had and save the money for the next day. He’d be hungry tomorrow too and the pub would still be here. He’d just come back tomorrow.

 

\----------

 

“Please,” Connor quietly begged the detective, his voice sounding pitiful to his own ears but he didn’t give a fuck how he came across. He was begging for his missing brother. “Murph’s still out there. Please don’t stop looking.”

It was close to midnight and there was no trace of Murphy since he walked off the bus almost 12 hours earlier…..he didn’t come to the pub, he didn’t go home, he just disappeared into thin air once again. Connor really thought Murphy would be home by now, he thought this would all be over with tonight. He thought by now he’d be hovering over his brother and watching him sleep but instead he remained heartbroken and desperate to find his twin.

“He’s lost and he just can’t find his way here. It’s been a long time since he’s been home. He’s probably all mixed up,” Connor reasoned as he pulled back the blinds and studied the empty street once more, hoping Murphy would magically appear. “It’s getting cold out and he’s all alone. We need to find him.”

The detective waited for Connor to turn back toward him and when he did, he began to carefully explain why they had to stop for the night. It was too dark and the streets were empty, they’d already searched everywhere they could and made no progress. They were all exhausted and needed rest, especially Connor and his mother. They’d start fresh at first light and canvas the entire area until they found the missing teenager. And in the meantime, the overnight patrols would keep a watch out.

It was time to call it a night.

It all made sense to Connor. He understood every word, even if he didn’t like it. They’d never find Murphy in the dark, he was probably curled up somewhere trying to stay warm. But Connor didn’t want to stop when he was this fucking close to finding Murph. He didn’t want to eat, he didn’t want to rest and he certainly didn’t want to go home without his brother in tow. It wasn’t fair to go one more night without Murphy under the same roof. It just wasn’t fair.

The detective opened the door and motioned to the police car, indicating it was there to take Connor home. Connor thought about not giving in and just searching for his brother on his own but his ma would have a conniption if he did that and he just couldn’t put her through that. She was a strong woman but she didn’t need to be worrying about two sons on the streets tonight.

“You’ll call if you find him, right?”

The detective nodded and patted him on the back, words unnecessary. Connor trusted this man, he felt like family and he’d done so much to try to find his brother. Connor glanced down the street one final time before climbing into the car with a quiet promise to return to the pub at dawn.

Connor MacManus might be heading home but he certainly wouldn’t sleep any.

 

\----------

 

It was pretty bad when even a dog barely ate the shit his mother called meatloaf. He should have packed something that was actually edible, like the leftover pizza that was sitting right there on the top shelf of the refrigerator. Or the fried chicken wrapped in aluminum foil next to it. Shit…..even the day old rice and beans would have been better than the meatloaf. But Murphy had been in such a hurry to run away before his fucked up father came home that he just grabbed the first thing he saw.

And now he was hungry. The apple and pretzels did nothing to stop his growling stomach but he didn’t regret for one minute sharing what little he had with that stray dog. Murphy stumbled upon the animal when he made his way down the alley in an attempt to find refuge from the cold wind but all he’d found was a hungry dog begging for food. But even as hungry as he was, he’d rather share his food than let a dog go hungry.

Murphy tried to get the dog to sit with him but after the food was gone, so was the dog. It was probably for the best though, he could barely take care of himself let alone take care of a dog. It’s just that he was lonely and some company would have been nice.

Murphy began to shiver when the wind picked up and he blew his breath on his icy cold hands in an attempt to warm them a bit. He thought about walking around some more but he’d already been on the street for hours and his feet just couldn’t take it any longer so he made his way to the far corner of the alley, hoping to God no one else was back there.

He squatted in the darkness and he pressed his back against the cold brick wall, shivering a bit more violently with each passing second. He needed to keep his drawings off the wet ground so he wrapped his arms around his knapsack and hugged it tightly to his chest in order to protect them as much as possible.

Murphy couldn’t believe how fucking cold he was, the wind was killing him. He’d never been so cold in his life, not even when the big man stripped him and locked him in the root cellar overnight last winter.

What a fucking idiot he was. He deserved to freeze to death. He should have planned better, he should have worn a heavier coat and taken more money. He should have waited for warm weather. But just like always, he acted without thinking. Just like always, he didn’t use what little brains he had. His father was right…..he was a stupid fuck. No wonder his parents hated him.

Murphy looked at his surroundings. He looked at the dumpster to his left, he looked at the newspapers blowing down the alley, he looked at the ripped and dirty clothes someone threw in a puddle. And he laughed. He was squatting in an alley, freezing his balls off and clutching drawings of his imaginary brother to his chest. And he was still happier and safer than being home.

Tomorrow would be better, he just had to survive the night. Tomorrow he’d go to that little pub that seemed to call out to him. It would be warm there and he could use the money that nice lady gave him to buy some food. Maybe he’d even find a place to sleep. Maybe he’d even find a friend.

Tomorrow would be better. It just had to be.


	13. Destiny

Murphy hugged his knapsack closer to his body as he silently watched the staggering man, the distinct smell of whiskey heavy in the air. The man paused just a few feet from him and swayed slightly before turning to rummage through the dumpster, his nonsensical mutterings echoing off the alley walls as he foraged for a meal.

The reality of the situation hit Murphy like a ton of bricks and his stomach did flip flops as he silently prayed the man wouldn’t notice him squatting in the shadows. _Just go away, mister…..please._ The muttering grew louder as the man put something in his mouth and dug deeper into the garbage, his occasional curses the only thing Murphy understood.

Murphy’s instincts told him to get the fuck out of there, this was an unstable man and a dangerous situation but if he moved, he’d surely be seen. No, it made more sense to stay put. He was safe as long as the man didn’t know he was there.

“Mother Fucker!”

Murphy jumped a mile when the man yelled and his sneakers made a loud scraping sound on the gravel, drawing the man’s attention to the noise. Murphy bit his lip and his body shook not just from the frigid air but from burgeoning fear as the man slowly moved toward him with a slight smile, his eyes focused on the figure huddled in the dark corner of the alley.

He stood in front of the wide-eyed teenager for only a moment before he demanded money with a slight kick to Murphy’s shoe. When Murphy didn’t respond, when he only glared back defiantly, the man laughed at the boy’s insolence and kicked him again. Harder.

“I don’t have any money,” Murphy snarled in his best _“don’t fuck with me”_ voice, the same tone he used whenever he fought back against his father. But just like his father, this man was unaffected. Just like his father, this man meant business. And just like his father, this man was intent on beating him with unparalleled fury.

“Give me your money, you fucking brat,” the man hissed as he pulled his leg back, prepared to teach this kid a lesson with his boot. But Murphy was used to being kicked and as he squirmed to the side, the man’s boot missed his young target and instead connected painfully with the brick wall.

As the man cursed and called him every name in the book, Murphy vowed to keep his money where it was, safely tucked in his pants pocket. Those couple of bills meant he’d eat tomorrow instead of having to beg or steal…..or even worse, dumpster dive. No…..no fucking way would he do any of those things. He wasn’t giving up what little money he had, not without a fight.

“Fuck off, asshole.” Just as the words left Murphy’s lips, the man grabbed at his knapsack and attempted to pry it from his grip. But Murphy wasn’t about to let that happen, not with his drawings of Connor inside. As the man fought for dominance, his fist connected with Murphy’s face but still Murphy held on tight as he could. Murphy twisted and pulled at his property, his knuckles white with effort until miraculously the knapsack was suddenly free from the man’s clutches.

Murphy was chased from the alley by the obscenity spewing vagrant only to end up collapsing in a heap on a park bench across town, his heart thudding in his chest as adrenalin coursed through his veins. As he sat panting in the cool night air, he wiped blood from his split lip and felt strangely proud of himself. He actually got away…..that was something he could never do at home, no matter how hard he fought.

As the adrenalin wore off, exhaustion took hold and Murphy considered staying where he was and sleeping on the hard bench. It really wasn’t any worse than sleeping on the dirt floor of the root cellar, and he’d done that a million times. But in the openness of the park, there was no protection from the howling wind and once it started to rain, he knew he couldn’t stay.

As he began walking, his eyes searched desperately for refuge. Anyplace would do, anyplace at all as long as it was dry. The freezing drizzle quickly soaked his hair and it battered his face, creating thin rivulets of water that ran down his neck and wet his collar. His sneakers had holes in them and every step he took resulted in loud squishing noises, his toes quickly numbing from the icy cold water. His lips were blue, his body shook and he was certain he’d never feel his feet again but Murphy didn’t care about any of that. The only thing he cared about was on his back.

His knapsack held the one thing he wouldn’t leave home without, the only thing that ever mattered to the traumatized teenager. He’d rather die than have his Connor drawings ruined by rain, he had to protect them. He took off his jean jacket and wrapped it around his knapsack, hunching his body over the bundle in an attempt to shield it further as he continued his hunt for protection from the elements.

Every store he passed was already closed, every business dark. But there was one place that might still be open. It was a place that called out to him, a familiar place that he somehow knew was safe. As he rounded the corner, he smiled when he saw the lit sign from the pub directly ahead. Even though he was only 16 and far too young to be in a pub this time of night, he just knew they’d let him stay.

He ran the rest of the way but as he approached the entrance to The Anvil, his smile quickly faded. There were no voices filtering through the door, no thump of a jukebox and not a light came from within. Murphy didn’t have to try the door, he already knew it was locked.

Mother Nature lit up the sky with lightning and Murphy pressed his shivering body into the tiny recess of the doorway, the slight overhang giving minimal protection from the downpour. He shoved his knapsack into a small alcove next to the door and even though he was pelted with cold rain every time the wind blew, his drawings stayed dry.

He couldn’t help the shake of his body and he told himself it was merely because he was chilled to the bone but deep down he knew he was only lying to himself. He was scared.

It was times like this that he talked to Connor; times when Murphy felt alone, when he was scared and just wanted his brother, even though he was pure fantasy. He pretended Connor was watching the very same storm and as strange as it seemed, Murphy actually felt his make believe brother was worried about him. With a slight laugh at his own childishness, Murphy whispered into the rain, “Don’t worry, Connor. I’m okay. I’ll be home soon.”

Murphy took a deep breath, feeling like the idiot he was. There was no Connor waiting for him at a home that didn’t exist. Murphy was alone in this world, completely alone. His tears felt hot as he closed his eyes and cried for the loss of a nonexistent sibling, feeling more alone than he’d ever felt in his life.

He’d give anything if Connor was real…..anything at all.

 

\----------

 

“It’s late. You should be in bed, Connor.”

Annabelle softly spoke as she joined her oldest son on the porch, smiling when he made room for her on the glider. She took a deep breath as she sat next to the heartbroken twin and she struggled to find words that would comfort him, some magical words that would make everything all better. But none existed. The only thing that would make everything _right_ again would be Murphy coming home.

Connor’s unblinking eyes didn’t leave the sky as he watched the storm build and churn, the worry in his heart reflected on his face as the rumble of thunder shook the house.

“Storms always make me think of Murph.” Connor’s quiet words still held the pain of separation but they also reflected a sense of nostalgia for days gone by, a remembrance of the comfort he gave his brother every time a storm rolled in. “He used to get so scared of the thunder.”

Annabelle chuckled at the memory of her two little eight year old twins, both wide eyed with terror over the very same things. Most children wanted their mother when they were scared…..but not Murphy. All he ever wanted was Connor.

“I remember, luv. And as I recall, you were just as scared as your brother. You just hid it better.”

“He said I was the bravest person in the world,” Connor laughed quietly as he remembered how Murphy clung to him with a bruising grip and shook violently in his arms with each resounding boom. Murphy would look at him through tear filled eyes and beg Connor not to leave him alone. And Connor never did, until someone took Murphy away.

Annabelle covered Connor’s hand with her own and gently squeezed as Connor turned away from the sky for the first time since the beginning of the storm. His eyes slowly filled with tears and his lip trembled as his raspy voice choked out a confession. “I didn’t have the heart to tell him I was shitting myself worse than he was.”

She drew her son close to her bosom and kissed his forehead before whispering a soft promise she prayed would come true, a wish she’d give her life to have fulfilled. “He’ll be home tomorrow. You can tell him then.”

Connor nodded in agreement as he squirmed closer to his mother, taking comfort in her steady presence. He wrapped his arms around her as tight as he could and his eyes returned to the brilliant flashes in the sky, wondering if Murphy still shook at the sound of thunder or if he’d outgrown his childhood fear.

His ma muttered something about sleep but Connor ignored her prodding; he knew he’d get very little sleep tonight. How could he sleep with his missing twin so close yet so far? Eventually her nagging died down and they relaxed into a comfortable silence as together they watched the heavens light up, knowing that somewhere not too far away, Murphy was watching the very same storm.

 

\----------

 

“Get up, kid. You can’t sleep here.”

Murphy woke to a gruff voice and a light nudge to his leg, his hands clutching his knapsack tightly to his chest as his body lurched awake. He instinctively shielded his ribs with his arm as he scooted backward, only stopping when he felt the cold brick wall at his back. He forgot where he was until the smells of the alley reminded him he had sought refuge behind the coffee shop after the storm had ended.

Murphy squinted in the early morning light as he looked up at the large figure looming above him, the man’s face hidden in shadows. His heart skipped a beat and he couldn’t fucking breathe…..for a terrifying moment, Murphy thought his father found him. But there was no follow-up kick to the gut, no meaty hand in his hair and no ruthless punch to his ribs. There was none of the excruciating pain Murphy associated with his father.

As the man took a step closer, the light hit his face and Murphy exhaled quietly in relief. Even though this was a mountain of a man, his eyes reflected a kindness Murphy wasn’t accustomed to seeing and his gruff voice was suddenly kinder in tone.

“How long you been out here, kid?”

Murphy didn’t answer the man, mainly because he had no idea how long he’d been in this particular alley. He shrugged in typical teenager fashion and he mumbled a quick apology as he got to his feet, his body almost convulsing with shivers.

The man asked him not to go, he offered him food and told Murphy he should come inside to warm up but the only place that truly felt safe was the little pub down the street. That was the only place Murphy wanted to be. He shook his head at the man’s nicety and thanked him for his offer and as he left the alley, the man’s voice loudly called after him.

Murphy made his way back to the park, intending to warm himself in the sun and wait for The Anvil to open for business. He sat on the same bench as the night before and pulled his sketchbook out, thumbing through his many drawings of his “brother” before settling on a blank page.

Murphy smiled, suddenly feeling inspired as he put pencil to paper. His idea seemed appropriate enough, seeing as what he had planned for the day.

Today he’d draw the person he always drew…..Connor. But today he’d draw Connor at The Anvil.

 

\----------

 

Connor arrived at the pub to news that Murphy had been spotted overnight running from an alley. Or as Detective Jennings corrected, a boy matching Murphy’s description had been spotted. At first Connor had been excited beyond belief. This news meant Murphy was close. But the more he thought about it, the more it bothered him. What was Murphy doing in that alley? And what was he running from? Was someone after him?

A short while later, just as Connor’s fear began to take hold and his emotions spiked, he heard about the cook finding his twin sleeping behind the coffee shop. As relieved as Connor was that Murphy wasn’t hurt, it killed him to think of his brother sleeping on the cold ground next to a dumpster in the rain. Why _the fuck_ didn’t Murphy come home instead?

Connor stood on the sidewalk outside the pub the rest of the morning, his eyes scanning every person within sight as he searched for the face of his twin. Connor was bound and determined to find his brother; there was no fucking way Murphy would _ever_ sleep next to garbage again. Not as long as Connor was alive.

Once an hour, Connor went back into the pub for a bathroom break and to answer his mother’s phone call. Every hour on the dot Annabelle called for updates on the search as she waited impatiently at home for news on her baby. She insisted Connor spare her nothing and he didn’t know what was worse, hearing the worry in her voice when she found out Murphy slept in an alley or hearing the profound disappointment when hour after hour Murph still wasn’t found.

“It won’t be much longer, Ma. I can feel it. Don’t you worry, I’ll find Murph today.”

His words weren’t an effort to bolster his mother’s faith, although they certainly had that effect. Connor’s words were a statement of fact, a belief he held deep in his heart and something he didn’t doubt for one moment.

If Connor MacManus knew anything at all, he knew today was the day. Today he’d find his twin.

 

\----------

 

As usual, an open sketchbook and a pencil in his hand meant Murphy lost all track of time. But it was worth it, this was the best drawing he’d ever done. Connor looked exactly how Murphy pictured him, right down to the raised eyebrow and the lopsided grin on his face. Murphy had taken the time and included himself in the picture as well, along with their mythological mother wagging an admonishing finger at them for their hijinks.

Murphy loved this picture, it was exactly how he imagined his pretend family and he laughed at how real it felt. Fuck, it seemed more like a memory than something he made up in his head. With a soft sigh, he reminded himself that Connor and their “ma” were only figments of his imagination, a stupid dream and a childish fantasy he was too old to continue. Maybe one day he’d stop pretending but he just wasn’t ready to give them up, not yet anyway.

Murphy closed his sketchbook and carefully secured it in his knapsack, his stomach growling loudly with hunger. The sun wasn’t as hot as he thought it would be and his clothes were still damp, causing his shivers to continue. He couldn’t stand being this cold and hungry and he decided it was definitely time to spend what little money he had and get something hot to eat.

The pub should be open by now and as he started walking, he felt a nervousness he didn’t expect. He couldn’t figure it out, why would he be nervous? He was just getting something to eat at a local pub, what’s the big fucking deal?

It was so weird…..the closer he got to The Anvil, the safer he felt. Maybe that’s why he was nervous. He was afraid that once he arrived, he’d see it was just a building full of strangers and he didn’t want to lose the only feeling of safety he’d ever really had.

He stopped across the street and stared at the pub, chewing on his nail as he fought the distinctive pull to go inside. He needed to quit being such a fucking baby. So what if he lost his feeling of safety? He’d never actually been safe a day in his life so what was the big fucking deal all of a sudden?

Murphy’s stomach growled once again and with that growing feeling of emptiness, he made his decision. He was too fucking cold and hungry to walk away. He adjusted his knapsack on his shoulder, gathered his courage and headed for the door he had spent hours huddled against just last night.

 

\----------

 

Connor finished his soda and placed it on the bar, ready to head back out to the street to keep watch for his twin. Most people would have lost faith by now but not Connor. He not only believed he’d find Murphy, he _knew_ it. And more importantly, he felt it. Their connection was still intact after all these years of separation and it only seemed to grow stronger with time, instilling him with a newfound sense of determination.

Connor’s excitement outweighed his fear, his faith smothered his discouragement and his need for his brother drove him onward.

He leaned over the bar to return the phone to its cradle when the door opened, drawing his attention to the lone figure bathed in sunlight. Connor squinted and rubbed his eyes in disbelief…..no fucking way. He was seeing things, the sun was playing tricks on his eyes. He had to be dreaming.

Time stopped as Connor’s mouth hung open and his body shook with emotion. He couldn’t stop the tears even if he wanted to.

_Murph…..it was Murph._


	14. Finally

Murphy’s eyes slowly adjusted to the dim light of the pub as the door closed behind him with a soft _whoosh,_ the smell of pizza from the kitchen making his stomach growl with hunger. Heads turned and conversation abruptly stopped as he took a reactive step backward and readjusted the knapsack on his shoulder. He never liked people staring at him, especially strangers, and he was close to telling them all to fuck off.

He couldn’t figure out why they were staring, most people would look away by now. What the fuck were they looking at? It’s not like he’s the only kid in the pub, there’s that boy at the other end of the bar who looks to be about the same age. Maybe it’s because he’s a stranger. They probably know everyone who lives in town and his face is foreign to them. That had to be it, they were just wondering who he was.

Murphy nervously chewed on his lip and he took a few hesitant steps forward, his hunger driving him onward as he struggled to look like he belonged. His eyes wandered around the room, not pausing on one thing for too long but taking it all in with a choking sense of familiarity. Everything was exactly how he pictured it, right down to the old man behind the bar. He suddenly felt like these people were important and he should remember this place, he should remember _them._ But that was crazy.

Connor could barely comprehend that the nervous looking boy slowly walking toward him was his baby brother, his twin, his lost other half. He’d waited for this moment for what felt like forever and part of him almost believed this was too good to be true. He’d spent years looking for Murphy, he’d chased down dozens of boys he thought were his brother only to find that when he got a good look, he was mistaken. But this wasn’t one of those times, this wasn’t a dream or a hallucination. This boy looked so much like Murphy it gave Connor chills. Somehow Connor knew, deep in his heart Connor fucking _knew_ this boy was Murph. And he was right here, breathing the same air and everything.

Connor didn’t dare blink, he was too afraid Murphy would disappear in that one millisecond his eyes were closed. He tried to move but he was frozen in place, his hands clutching desperately onto the edge of the counter in an attempt to stop the collapse of his body as his heart thudded loudly in his chest. Connor wanted to scream out for his lost brother but his throat constricted with emotion and only a small squeak escaped, far too quiet to be noticed.

Murphy looked terrified, almost as if he were about to run away at any moment. His wide eyes darted everywhere and his steps slowed to a near crawl as he lifted his hand to his mouth and began to gnaw on his thumbnail.

Tears clouded Connor’s vision at the familiarity of his brother’s nervous habit and he quickly blinked his eyes, trying his best to remain strong for his twin. Connor calmed his breathing as he remembered what the police told him…..Murphy might be confused, he’d probably be scared and emotional. He might even have trouble remembering. They warned Connor to go slow and not overwhelm his brother. As much as Connor wanted to hug his twin and never let him go, he didn’t want to risk scaring him off. He had to think of Murphy.

Murphy finally reached the bar and he stood right next to Connor as he continued to gnaw on his finger, his eyes carefully avoiding any contact. Murphy was taller than Connor expected but far too thin, almost as if no one ever fed him. Connor studied his twin’s profile, his eyes going back and forth between the boy at his side and the age progression photo resting on the bar as he compared every minute detail; the eyes, the nose, the mouth…..and the mole just above Murphy’s lip. All exactly the same. The only thing different were the dark bruises that marred his fair skin and the cuts along his neck, all of which made Connor want to cry.

Murphy knew the boy at his side was watching him, although he wasn’t sure why. The light haired boy seemed harmless enough though, all he was doing was staring and maybe he thought Murphy went to his school or something. Murphy glanced in his direction and they locked eyes, a wave of familiarity flowing through his body like a bolt of lightning. He knew this guy. Somehow Murphy knew him.

Connor momentarily forgot how to breathe as his brother stared at him, his eyes wide and unblinking. It was surreal to look into those blue depths once again and see his baby brother buried deep inside. His childlike innocence was long gone and in its place was something that nearly brought Connor to his knees. Murphy’s eyes were haunted, almost as if he had experienced something unfathomable and horrific…..something that threatened to break him at any moment. Those eyes were no longer the trusting eyes Connor remembered from six years earlier; now they were guarded and full of fear. Connor swallowed a lump in his throat as he attempted to contain his emotions, his eyes unable to look anywhere but at his twin.

Murphy tried to look away but he just couldn’t, the intensity of those eyes held him in place. This kid was more familiar than anyone he’d seen up until now, Murphy felt connected to him, almost as if they’d known each other since…..since _birth._ The way he looked at Murphy with a slightly raised eyebrow, the way his head tilted while he waited for a response of some kind and the way he smiled in a gentle way reserved only for the most familiar of people…..Murphy was sure he knew him somehow. But that was impossible. He just reminded Murphy of someone back home, that’s all. That _had_ to be it.

The old man slowly made his way toward the pair, the scuffling of his shoes finally pulling Murphy’s attention from the boy at his side. “Hello there,” Sibeal said with a concerned gaze and a furrowed brow, finally breaking the silence with his soft words. After a beat, he added, “Are you okay?”

Murphy hadn’t been asked that in a long time and his eyes filled with tears at the simple question. No one ever cared how he was or if he was okay. He felt like he could trust this man and Murphy wanted to tell him that he wasn’t okay, he hadn’t been okay for a long time…..maybe forever. But if he said those truthful words, he’d break down and cry. And if he cried, there’d be questions he wouldn’t be able to answer. So instead of being honest, instead of trusting someone for the first time in years, Murphy bit his lip and quickly nodded as he blinked back his pain.

He lowered his eyes when the man looked like he was about to push the issue and Murphy quietly cleared his throat as he took out the money the nice lady from the bus gave him. As his fingers struggled to straighten the crumbled bills, Connor caught sight of a knife mark that went across the back of his brother’s hand. My God, it was so deep. Who would do that to his twin?

Murphy shifted the knapsack on his shoulder as he cleared his throat a bit louder than before, holding the wrinkled bills out toward the man with a shaking hand. “Is this enough to get something to eat?”

Tears leaked from the lighter twin’s eyes in long salty streaks as Murphy spoke the first words Connor heard in six years. Connor couldn’t believe how shy his brother sounded, almost insecure, not at all like how he thought he’d be. And not at all like how he remembered Murphy was. It was both wonderful to hear and painful to experience. Murphy’s voice had changed with puberty, it had deepened during his long absence and Connor no longer recognized his twin’s voice. Connor knew Murph’s voice would be different, his ma warned him they wouldn’t recognize it anymore, but still Connor was completely unprepared for the reality of the situation. He took a shuddering breath as he wiped at his face, thankful Murphy was too focused on their uncle to notice.

“You’re hungry?” Sibeal prodded, his kind voice sounding a bit surprised at the offer of money.

Murphy nodded as his eyebrows drew together in confusion. It should be obvious he was hungry after the question he just asked. “Is this enough money?”

The old man reached for his hand and Murphy was prepared to give him every bill he had. It would be money well spent. But instead of taking the money from his fingers, Sibeal surprised him by pushing his hand away with a gentle smile. “You don’t have to pay here. I’ll make you whatever you want, anything at all. You just name it.”

Murphy almost offered the money again but given the look on the man’s face, Murphy knew he wasn’t about to take it. The man patiently waited for an answer as Murphy thought about what he wanted, his mind running through all the possibilities before settling on a teenage staple. “Is pizza okay?”

A warm smile greeted his question, the man slowly nodding as he leaned forward and said, “More than okay. Give me twenty minutes and I’ll make you the best pizza you ever had.”

Murphy sighed in relief as the corners of his mouth raised in a slight smile. He was right. This place was safe. It was friendly and safe, just like he knew it would be.

 

\----------

 

Murphy stared at himself in the men’s room mirror as he dried his hands. No wonder that kid at the bar stared at him, he looked like total shit. His clothes were damp and dirty, his hair looked like it hadn’t seen a comb in a month and the bruises on his face had grown darker overnight. He probably shouldn’t have washed his face either, it only made the bruises look worse without dirt covering them but it was too late now.

He took off his jean jacket and peeled off his shirt, glancing at his torso in the mirror before quickly looking away. The belt marks from his latest beating crisscrossed over the bruises that riddled his ribcage, leaving a macabre tale of torture in their wake. Murphy didn’t want to be reminded of what his father left behind and he softly whined as he moved, the raw pain still resonating in his bones.

God, he was so fucking cold. He shivered as he opened his knapsack and removed the extra shirt he had packed, which also happened to be his only piece of dry clothing. He pulled it onto his body before reluctantly putting his jean jacket back on, needing to wear it to hide his father’s finger marks that bruised his arms. His jacket felt heavy and cold from the rain the night before and Murphy felt the wetness begin to soak into his shirt. There was no way he’d ever be warm again, he was sure of it.

As he exited the lavatory, he instinctively moved to a booth where he knew a warm air vent blew directly at the table. He tossed his knapsack in first before sliding into the seat, finally relaxing as the heat hit his body. He glanced around as he wondered how he knew about the vent, convincing himself he must have noticed it when he first entered the bar, that had to be it.

He caught eyes with the blonde boy who’d been watching him earlier and Murphy couldn’t help but shift in his seat as he lowered his head in an attempt to hide the bruises along his jawline. He thought the staring would have stopped by now but then again, maybe the kid was still trying to place him. The boy’s gaze felt protective and comforting in a way that reminded Murphy of his imaginary brother. It was so strange, their eyes were the same.

Murphy suddenly felt the overpowering need to draw Connor, almost as if he were afraid of losing him in some way. He pushed down his inner voice that told him he was stupid for missing a brother he never actually had, while at the same time, Murphy felt like Connor was the best person he knew, imaginary or not. He hastily unzipped his knapsack and pulled out his sketchbook, flipping past his most recent Connor drawings. He always drew Connor happy and smiling and for a reason he didn’t understand, Connor was always age 10. Murphy blindly reached for a pencil as his mind raced, deciding to draw an older Connor for the first time ever.

As Murphy put pencil to paper, Connor’s leg nervously bounced up and down as he waited for his mother to arrive. Uncle Sibeal had phoned not only the police but their home as well, and he informed Connor a police car was stationed outside the pub while Detective Jennings went to retrieve their ma.

While he anxiously waited, Connor watched. All he wanted in the world was to talk to his brother but he was scared shitless to go over to his table. He had no idea what to say or how to begin. It was so fucking stupid, they never had trouble talking before Murphy was taken away. In fact, usually you couldn’t shut Murphy up. But he seemed so quiet now.

Maybe Murphy’s thirsty. He said he was hungry, he must be thirsty too. Connor kept his eye on his twin as he went behind the bar and filled a pitcher with soda. He grabbed two glasses and slowly made his way across the room. At least now he had an excuse to start a conversation.

Murphy placed his sketchbook on the table and he blew his breath onto his hands, needing to warm his fingers before he continued with the finer details of his Connor drawing. He was pleased with how his drawing looked, although the lines were a bit shaky due to his shivering, but all in all…..he liked it.

Connor’s approach went unnoticed and he cringed the closer he got to his brother. God, there were so many bruises on Murphy’s face. He wished their ma didn’t have to see Murphy like this, all battered and bruised. It’ll kill her to see her baby hurt so badly.

Connor was a few steps from the table when the darker twin looked up in shock, their eyes meeting momentarily before Murphy grabbed his sketchbook and slid it off to the side in an attempt to hide what he was drawing. Connor bit his lip to stop his tears as Murphy’s hand went to his ribs and he softly whimpered, almost as if he were in a lot of pain from that slight movement. Connor couldn’t help but wonder what Murphy was hiding beneath his wet jean jacket but whatever it was, it had to be bad. God, Connor wanted to kill whoever tore his brother from their family and did this to him.

Connor’s first instinct was to reach for his brother, to soothe him with a touch like he used to do whenever Murphy got hurt. But as much as he wanted to hug him, as much as Murphy needed the comfort, Connor knew it would scare him. Murphy just wasn’t ready for that yet. So instead of the touch they both craved, the older twin quietly asked, “Are you okay?”

It was a simple question but filled with greater meaning. Murphy stared up into tender blue eyes, feeling the concern in those three words. This boy would help him, he’d understand. He cared. But there would be questions. And questions might lead to his return home, to the place where his father waited in the root cellar with a leather belt and a sharp knife. Murphy shuddered in fear…..he just couldn’t take the chance. He’d rather die than go back there.

“I’m fine,” Murphy whispered as he made a conscious effort to release his ribs, even though they hurt like hell, and he quickly tucked his sketchpad into his knapsack before turning back to the boy at his side. “What do you want?”

Connor would give anything to see the sketches his baby brother hid from sight, wondering if there was more than just that one drawing of him the lady from the bus saw. “I thought you might be thirsty. You’ll need something to drink when Uncle Sibeal brings out the pizza.”

Sibeal. So the old man’s name is Sibeal. That’s the same name Murphy imagined for the old barkeep. But how did he know the man’s name? It was too unusual to just be a good guess. How the fuck did he know?

“So are you thirsty?”

Murphy glanced at the pitcher; he was so thirsty he was certain he could drink the entire thing in one gulp. He noticed the boy held two glasses and was most likely hoping to join him, which Murphy actually welcomed. Maybe he could find out why this boy was so familiar, why he felt safe in his company…..or at the very least, maybe Murphy could make a friend.

The boy seemed to know what he was thinking and a slight raise of Murphy’s eyebrows was all the invitation he needed. Once he got the go-ahead, Connor slid into the seat across from his brother and quickly filled their glasses to the rim, smiling widely as Murphy took a huge swallow.

“Drink all you want. I can get another pitcher when we run out.”

Murphy’s lips turned upward, but only slightly. It felt odd to let his guard down, even a little bit, but there was something about this boy that he trusted. It felt like they were the best of friends and shared a history of some sort. He could picture playing together in a schoolyard, having water balloon fights and eating so much candy that they got sick. It was like a vivid dream…..or a memory.

This boy meant something to him, he just knew it. Murphy tried to remember but the harder he tried, the more his head pounded. He barely listened as the kid rambled on about how good the pizza would be and how Uncle Sibeal was making it special, just for them. But Murphy didn’t care about pizza anymore, not one bit. He just wanted to remember this boy.

It was obvious the boy wanted to ask about his bruises, Murphy caught him looking at them a couple of times, but instead of backing Murphy into a corner and demanding answers, he allowed Murphy to relax into a comfortable silence.

Connor smiled with complete happiness as he continued to talk, nervously filling in the silent gaps as he enjoyed every second with his twin. It was okay if Murphy was quiet, Connor understood. He wasn’t about to push Murph to talk, Connor just wanted to be with him.

Murphy rubbed his forehead as he tried again to pull something from one of those blank spots in his mind, wishing he had the medicine his mom gave him whenever he felt like this. The medicine made him sleep, sometimes all day, but when he woke up he always felt better. Although he usually forgot what gave him the headache in the first place, which his mother said was one of the benefits of the medicine.

“Here comes Uncle Sibeal with the pizza. God, it smells awesome,” the boy happily announced as he pushed their glasses out of the way and pulled Murphy from his thoughts. “Maybe eating something will help your headache.”

“Maybe.” Murphy nodded, surprised at how observant his new friend was.

“Double cheese, pepperoni and sausage,” the old man reported as he placed the pizza on the table. “Just the way you like it, Murphy. Now it’s hot, so you boys be careful.”

Murphy furrowed his brow as his eyes widened. How did Sibeal know what he liked on pizza? And how’d he know his name? Murphy didn’t tell _anyone_ his name. He stared blankly at the old man as his words sunk in, Murphy’s eyes darting across the table to the boy as his headache increased tenfold.

“We need some more soda,” Connor announced as he picked up the pitcher and prepared to slide from the booth.

Sibeal placed his hand on Connor’s shoulder, patting it gently. “You stay put. I’ll refill the pitcher.”

“Thanks, Uncle Sibeal.” Connor’s eyes returned to Murphy’s, his smile gentle as he motioned to the pizza. “Dig in.”

But eating was the last thing on Murphy’s mind, he was too busy trying to make sense of things. There was something that clicked in his mind and a tug he felt toward the boy sitting directly across from him, almost as if their hearts spoke directly to each other. Murphy knew who this boy was, he knew it with the same certainty as knowing the sky was blue. And that scared the shit out of him. Because if he was right, then his entire life was a lie.

“Is your name Connor?”


	15. You're Not Alone

“Can Jimmy stay for dinner, Mom?”

Murphy stood in the doorway of the kitchen, chewing on his lip as he waited for his mother’s decision. It was a rare request for the twelve year old boy, Murphy didn’t have friends over too often, and he fidgeted nervously in place as his mother turned to study him.

“Are you sure you want to eat here and not at Jimmy’s?”

The cold tone in her voice matched the icy look in her eye and Murphy instantly regretted his question. He’d been spending a lot of time at Jimmy’s house recently, far more than his mother thought acceptable, but Murphy didn’t give a shit. Jimmy’s parents are nice, they don’t yell or hit their son and it isn’t scary to be there.

“I’m sure. No one cooks better than you,” Murphy quietly mumbled with a slow nod of his head, placating his mother with his insincere response. Even at his tender age, he recognized the jealousy in the woman’s manner. “Is it okay? Please?”

When Murphy returned to his room, he was shocked to see Jimmy sitting on his bed and casually playing with the thick leather straps attached to the headboard. He pulled on them, as if testing their strength, before turning them over and pulling once more.

Murphy’s stomach did flip-flops and a feeling of dread coursed through his body as Jimmy fingered the worn bands. No one has ever seen the bindings his parents still use on him when he sleeps.....or misbehaves. How can he explain why he’s tied down every night when Murphy doesn’t understand it himself? Or why his father sometimes leaves him bound to the bed all day just because he can? Jesus, sometimes that sadistic fucker ties him up just so Murphy doesn’t fight back when he’s whipped.

“Oh, hey. You’re back,” Jimmy announced when he heard the squeak of Murphy’s sneakers on the hardwood floor. He released the straps and watched them fall to the mattress, seemingly fascinated with the restraints. “What’s with these things?”

“They’re nothing,” Murphy said in a low voice, unsure how to extricate himself from this conversation.

“You have the same straps hidden under your blanket at the foot of the bed too. You into bondage, Murphy?” Jimmy joked with a loud cackle, not realizing how upset his friend was until he turned to look in his direction. Murphy’s pained expression and his lack of rebuttal caused clarity to form and Jimmy suddenly realized exactly what those straps were used for. “Murphy, I’m sorry. I was just kidding. I didn’t realize that.....well, that your parents did..... _that_.....to you.”

“They have to,” Murphy instantly responded, unsure why he lied and defended his parents when he hated everything they did to him. His mind raced to come up with an explanation his friend would accept, something that sounded plausible but wouldn’t create too much suspicion. “I walk in my sleep and get hurt. That’s why the straps are there. To.....to protect me.”

“Oh,” Jimmy said, disbelief obvious on his face. “I guess that explains it then.”

Murphy nodded and lowered his eyes to the floor, wishing he could tell his friend the truth but knowing he never would. After all, what could another twelve year old kid do to help him? An uncomfortable silence formed between the boys and Murphy shifted from foot to foot, waiting for Jimmy to call him out on his bullshit.

“So is it okay if I stay for dinner?”

“Yeah, as long as you like meatloaf,” Murphy responded with a soft sigh of relief, grateful his friend changed the subject and didn’t question him further. “It’s pretty gross though. You might be risking your health.”

“I’ll chance it.”

They played cards on the floor in Murphy’s bedroom for the next hour and not once did Murphy think about his fresh bruises or old scars. They laughed and joked and for those few glorious moments, Murphy actually forgot his pain. When the boys were called down to eat, Jimmy bumbled down the stairs behind his friend and he noticed the distinct shift in Murphy’s mood once he caught sight of his father. Murphy no longer smiled, his eyes were wide and full of fear and he stopped dead in his tracks and stared at the big man.

“What the fuck is this?” the man bellowed from his spot on the couch, causing both boys to jump.

Murphy held his breath as he watched his father thumb through his sketchpad. Fuck. Murphy had left his knapsack in the living room and normally it wouldn’t matter if the big man looked through his school stuff. Usually it was only books, pencils and the occasional failed test hidden behind the zippered compartments. But today was different. Today, Murphy had one of his Connor sketchpads mixed in with his school supplies.

The previous night, Murphy started a new drawing of Connor, one that he had in his mind’s eye for years. It was the craziest thought but it seemed to haunt Murphy for some reason and he felt compelled to draw Connor crying. He rarely drew Connor like that, he wanted his “brother” to be happy and smiling but for some reason, it just felt like Connor was crying. Over him.

He had barely slept that night, and not just because the straps were extra tight on his wrists and cut into his flesh. Murphy didn’t sleep because he couldn’t stop thinking of Connor. He had to draw him again, he just had to. He couldn’t leave him crying. In the morning, Murphy took the sketchpad from its hiding place and he tucked it in with his schoolbooks, spending every free moment at lunch and between classes drawing Connor. And this time, his brother was smiling.

“Answer me, you little fuck. What the hell is this?”

Murphy started to violently shake as the big man continued to look through the drawings, page after page of Connor, hundreds of images covering every square inch of space. The man raised his eyes to glare at the boy before calling out to the woman in the next room, demanding she join them.

“What did my baby do now?”

The big man motioned her over and she smiled at Murphy before she went to look at his sketches, certain she’d be proud of whatever he drew. Her expression changed from excitement to betrayal, it morphed from a mother’s love into a vengeful scorn and Murphy felt his blood run cold as she commanded, “Go home, Jimmy.”

As soon as Jimmy was out the door, the big man charged across the room and backhanded the terrified child before he could react. The sting of that slap paled by comparison to the hit that blackened Murphy’s eye and his lip was split open in two places from a blow that drove the dark haired twin to the ground. His vision clouded and his head spun but Murphy had the foresight to roll away from his father’s boot before it connected with his bruised and battered body. As the big man advanced on his victim, Murphy glided his tongue over his blood covered teeth to make sure none were missing and he braced himself for the next assault.

The woman took possession of the sketchbook and she paged through the multitude of Connor drawings, chastising Murphy as the big man beat him. “After all we do for you, this is how you repay us. We give and give and give but you appreciate nothing. You’re too old to believe in imaginary friends, Murphy.”

Blood pooled in Murphy’s mouth and he struggled to catch his breath as he raised his hands in a defensive posture but just like all the other beatings he had suffered through, nothing stopped the big man’s rage. Murphy blindly kicked in the direction of the pain and he paid for that attempt with a bone cracking punch to the ribs, his body curling into a ball as he writhed in agony. They left him shivering on the cold floor while he drifted in and out of consciousness, their voices a confusing jumbled mass as they discussed what to do with him.

As the pain radiated through his body, Murphy spoke to his brother in his mind, telling Connor that he’d never _ever_ forget him, no matter what his parents did. He pictured Connor’s smiling face as he was lifted from the ground by his hair, drawing strength from his make-believe sibling. And when they forced Murphy to put a match to his sketchpad and burn every page in the book, his face was drenched with tears and his soul screamed in misery as he watched Connor’s image turn to ash.

“I’m very disappointed in you,” the woman announced as she led him back to his bedroom with a firm hand on the back of Murphy’s neck, seemingly oblivious to the child’s swollen and bleeding face. “We thought you understood that Connor isn’t real. He’s just a silly little creation you dreamed up one night when you were ten years old. But you’re twelve now Murphy and I won’t stand for you believing in this, this useless delusion. There is no Connor.”

Murphy didn’t give a fuck what his mother said. Connor isn’t just an imaginary sibling who helps him survive the terror of his sadistic family. Connor is real to Murphy. He’s just as real as anyone. And maybe it’s crazy but.....Murphy loves his brother, even if he’s only real in his heart.

As they entered his bedroom, the pounding thud of the big man’s boots shook Murphy from his thoughts and he was greeted by an overwhelming mess of papers, clothes and toys. The man held a dresser drawer in his meaty paws and he turned it upside down, emptying the contents onto the floor as he searched for anything Connor related.

“You better hope I don’t find anything, boy. Or you’ll really be fucking sorry,” the big man promised as he dropped the empty drawer onto the pile of debris and moved toward Murphy’s bed. He knelt on the hardwood floor, right on the wooden slats that hid the two most precious things in Murphy’s world, and the big man felt between the mattress and box-springs before pulling them both from the bedframe with a growl.

Murphy tried to keep his expression neutral as his father locked eyes with him, which wasn’t too hard because his face was swollen numb, and when the big man stood and moved toward the desk, Murphy breathed a sigh of relief. He hated every single thing about his life.....his parents, his home, himself. But there were two things that made his existence tolerable, only two things Murphy cared about. His remaining Connor sketchpads. And they were both still tucked beneath the floorboards, dusty but completely safe from destruction.

The next four weeks were a blur for the boy as the woman gave him spoonfuls of a bitter drug by day and the man gave beatings in the root cellar by night. The amount of drug increased along with the savage ferocity of the beatings when Murphy resisted their attempts to erase Connor from existence, his heart clutching onto his twin even as he felt tiny pieces of him fading away. And when he was finally allowed to emerge from his drug induced fog, when his mind cleared as his bruises darkened, all Murphy remembered from that month was excruciating pain and his own empty promises.

They thought they broke him. They were convinced he gave up. But they were wrong.

Murphy lied. He promised to forget everything about Connor, he swore he’d never draw his face again and Murphy vowed to abandon his childish belief in a non-existent sibling. But there was no way in fucking hell he’d ever forsake Connor, no matter how badly his parents hurt him. He’d never forget him either; Murphy would rather die than lose what little he had of his twin. Murphy doesn’t know how he did it, to lie so convincingly in the face of brutal violence and potent drugs, but he suspects Connor somehow helped him. In one way or another, his make-believe brother was with him.

Less than a week later, Murphy retrieved his sketchbooks from their hiding place and his fingers ghosted over Connor’s image as he talked to his twin. His hands felt stiff and his fingers ached from being bent backwards by the big man but _fuck him,_ that wouldn’t stop Murphy from drawing Connor. Within the hour, a new picture was complete and Connor stared back at Murphy from the page.....just as real as ever before.

And now Murphy sat in a booth at The Anvil across from the boy he’d drawn that day, the brother whose face was older but still recognizable, the twin he swore he’d never forget. He shifted in his seat as he nervously waited for the confirmation that was six years in the making, hoping against hope this isn’t a dream or some cruel hallucination.

He’d pretended his entire life that Connor was real, he told strangers about his “brother” and he’d had a million conversations with him in his mind. He knew what Connor liked to eat, what made him laugh and what he dreamed about at night. Murphy thought he made it all up, every bit of it. But maybe.....maybe everything he knows about Connor isn’t a fantasy that formed in an abused child’s mind. Maybe it’s a memory. Is that even possible?

Murphy’s hand drifted to his knapsack and he felt the edges of his Connor sketchpads poke through the canvas, comforting him with their presence as he again asked the question he desperately needed answered.

“Is.....is your name Connor?”

It’s been six years since Connor heard his twin say his name. He didn’t realize how he yearned for such a simple thing, how deeply his soul ached, until this very moment. All the questions he had took flight as the world melted away and he was left with an overwhelming need to hear Murphy call his name just once more.

As they stared at each other, Connor’s eyes filled with tears and he relived their last moments together as innocent ten year olds, his gaze not leaving Murphy’s bruised face for even a moment. The memory bombarded him in a painful rush, it pounded his emotions to pulp and his heart was shredded into a million bleeding pieces as he pictured his baby brother in the schoolyard on the day he disappeared, smiling and waving as Connor walked away. Tears broke free and ran down Connor’s cheeks as he wondered what hell Murphy had suffered in the six years since he was taken. What had those fuckers done to him?

“Yeah, Murph.....it’s me. It’s Conn,” Connor choked out as he wiped at his face with a shaking hand.

“Conn. That’s short for Connor,” Murphy said quietly as Connor eagerly nodded in response, waiting for Murphy to remember more. But instead of being flooded by returning memories, the dark haired boy only looked more lost and confused. “What’s your last name?”

“Don’t you know? It’s the same as yours. It’s MacManus.”

Murphy looked away and he shook his head, his mind struggling to comprehend what the fuck was going on. He somehow knew this boy but he didn’t recognize that name, MacManus.....it wasn’t familiar at all. But for some reason, it felt like it should be. The blank spots in his memory seemed to mock him with things he should know but couldn’t retrieve and he rubbed his furrowed brow in an attempt to ease the building pain.

“No, that’s not right. That’s not my last name. Maybe it’s yours but it’s not mine.”

The anger in Murphy’s voice surprised his brother and caused Connor to hesitate, but only for a moment.

“Murph, please. Try to remember, okay? Just try.”

Murphy’s hand slid across his forehead and he rubbed his temple as he stared wide-eyed at their untouched pizza, the far-away look on his face crushing Connor as the older twin waited for a response of some kind. Each second that passed felt like an eternity and with every tick of the clock, Connor felt his brother pulling further away from him.

“You’re not real,” Murphy said in a whisper as he began to rock in his seat, denying what he knew to be the truth. “You can’t be.”

“It’s okay if you’re confused, they said you might be,” Connor gently whispered back in a voice laced thick with pain even as he attempted to comfort his younger half. He expected his brother to be mixed up, to not remember specifics or to possibly be emotional. But he never expected an outright rejection and that scared the living fuck out of him. “I know you don’t understand what’s going on, I can see it in your eyes. You’re scared too. But everything will come back to you, I promise.”

Murphy’s head pounded harder than ever before but it was the ache in his heart that threatened to break him. He always felt like something was missing from his life, almost as if a part of him had been ripped away and tossed aside. And now he knows why.

This boy is his other half, his twin, he’s the missing piece. He’s not a figment of his imagination or a fragment of a dream.....he’s real. This boy is Connor and he’s fucking real.

Murphy’s emotions spiked as he struggled to pull something from his past but every time he found a memory, he felt it slip away just as quickly. Jabs of pain radiated through his head as he realized his entire life as Murphy Martin was nothing but a fucking lie. It was a complete fake. Murphy has no idea who he is, who he belongs to or what he’s supposed to do. Fucking hell, he doesn’t even recognize his own last name.

“I.....I don’t know what to do,” Murphy admitted as he blinked back tears and began to lose what little control he had over his emotions. He felt completely lost as he struggled to remember this boy that meant the world to him, his inability to distinguish between a memory and a hazy fantasy overwhelming the traumatized youth. His eyes darted across the table, not settling on any one thing, as he added in a shaky voice, “Everything’s a blank. I don’t know what to do, Conn.”

Connor pressed his lips together to quiet the sob that shook his body at the anguished sound of his brother’s voice. It was a huge step to hear Murphy use his name so effortlessly but at the same time, it crushed Connor to see how dangerously close he was to losing his twin.

“You’re not alone, Murph. I’m here. We’ll get you whatever help you need,” Connor vowed, fully believing his brother’s memories were merely suppressed and would return with patience, time and love. “Ma will be here soon and she’ll take care of everything.”

“Ma?” Murphy lifted his head and he stared incredulously at Connor, his chin trembling as he struggled to remember the woman who gave them life. When a child is hurt or in trouble, no matter his age or circumstance, that child wants his mother. Murphy is no different.

“Yeah, Murph. Ma. She’ll be here any minute.”


	16. Ma

“Are you sure?”

Annabelle spoke quietly into the phone as she stood in her kitchen, her voice holding the quiver of a heartbroken mother in desperate need of her child. She’d been separated from her baby for too long, the pain was too great and her soul screamed for Murphy every second of every day since he was taken. If this child turned out to not be Murphy, if he’s merely a case of mistaken identity, Annabelle might never recover.

“Is he Murphy?”

Sibeal’s answer was immediate as he confirmed what Annabelle had waited an eternity to hear. Yes, he believes that boy is Murphy, he believes it with his whole heart.

“And Connor? Does he believe it too?” Annabelle asked, her legs weakening with nervous anticipation as she placed her hand over her heart.

To some people, it might seem strange that she put so much faith in her sixteen year old son’s opinion but to Annabelle MacManus, it isn’t strange at all. Her boys have a unique connection that goes beyond DNA and even as babies, they displayed a natural gift to understand each other completely. Through the years, their intuitive insight grew stronger and their mother witnessed firsthand how accurate those instincts could be. That irrefutable tie couldn’t be severed through time or distance and she knows better than to question that bond. Without a doubt, Connor will know if that boy is Murphy.

“Connor said he finally feels complete again.”

With those simple words, tears of relief and joy ran down the woman’s cheeks as she shamelessly sobbed from the depths of her heart, her body shaking with emotion as she struggled to catch her breath. She was almost afraid to believe that her living nightmare was about to end, it seemed too good to be true. She dreamt of this day since the moment her son disappeared, Annabelle prayed for this miracle since the beginning of that crushing pain and finally..... _finally,_ God is granting her this most sacred wish. Her baby is coming home.

“How is he?” she asked with excitement as she wiped at her face, needing to know the state of her flesh and blood as she began to ask rapid-fire questions. “How does he look? Is Connor with him? Did Murphy ask for me?”

Sibeal took a steadying breath as he debated how to answer her questions. My God, how do you tell a mother that her child appears traumatized beyond belief? That he’s bruised and beaten, that someone cut his flesh and Murphy’s so confused and scared that he barely recognizes his own twin? How do you say _any_ of that?

“Sibeal, you’re scaring me. Is Murphy okay?”

“He’s here, Annabelle. And he’s with Connor,” Sibeal said as gently as he could, not wanting to alarm her but at the same time, he was unable to tell her the complete truth. He clumsily tried to evade her question but the more he danced around the subject, the harder Annabelle pressed for answers.

Annabelle knew Sibeal was trying to protect her and she loved him for his effort but Annabelle didn’t need a guardian. She needed knowledge. She needed to know everything her son had gone through, she needed to understand his pain to help him heal.....even if it cost her large chunks of her own heart. And right now, she needed to be prepared for whatever waited for her across town.

She explained this to the elderly man in a firm voice that was meant to convey courage and after a few moments of silence, the barkeep relented. The words were painful to hear and each syllable cut her like a knife as she imagined what her youngest son might have endured. Sibeal did his best to remain vague yet still convey accurate information as Annabelle began to cry anew, silent and hot tears streaking her face in rivers of pain as she wept for her son.

Sibeal’s voice shook with emotion as he advised the shaken woman that the detective would be at her home soon to transport her to the pub. “Bring Murphy some warm clothes to wear, maybe one of Connor’s old sweatshirts that are too small for him. And perhaps you could find something that Murphy will remember from before, like a favorite toy or a family picture. Anything that might jog his memory. And Annabelle.....you need to hurry.”

Her hand shook so violently that she was barely able to return the phone to its cradle as she struggled to stabilize her raging emotions. She staggered to the sink and turned on the cold water, letting it run over her hands before freshening her face with a cold splash. She stood in place for a few moments and she closed her eyes as she said a silent prayer to God, thanking Him for returning Murphy to his family, begging Him to help her youngest heal and offering up her own life in exchange for the well-being of her children.

Annabelle entered the twins’ shared bedroom with a sense of determination and a flurry of activity. She took possession of Connor’s duffel bag and in one smooth motion, she emptied its contents onto his unmade bed. Her sole focus was on gathering warm clothes for her youngest son and she mindlessly made her way across the room toward Murphy’s dresser. She didn’t realize what she had done until the drawer was opened and she stared at clothes that would fit a child of age 10.

Her chin trembled as the air left her lungs in a heated rush. She hadn’t opened that drawer in years, it hurt too fucking much to see clothes her baby had previously worn, and her hand trembled as she stroked what was once Murphy’s favorite t-shirt. She pulled the purple garment free and she stared at the smiling face of Bugs Bunny, her own smile bittersweet as she remembered how much Murphy loved rabbits.

The shirt fell open in her grip and she was amazed at how small it was. Murphy was so little when he was ripped from their family and she struggled to comprehend what kind of monster would take an innocent child from his mother. She brought the shirt to her face and she closed her eyes as she inhaled, one lone tear running down her cheek as she realized Murphy’s scent was long gone. With a soft sigh, she carefully folded the shirt and returned it to the drawer before making her way to Connor’s dresser.

Annabelle hastily packed a light blue sweatshirt Connor no longer wore as well as a pair of jeans and thick cotton socks. As an afterthought, she added navy blue sweatpants to the bundle as well as a t-shirt and hoodie before gathering the pictures from the nightstand that Connor stared at every night. The last thing to be packed in the duffel bag was the one thing Annabelle was certain Murphy would never forget. Walter.

She stormed out the front door and began to run toward town with Connor’s duffel bag on her shoulder and an ache in her heart. She couldn’t just wait for the detective to show up, she had to get to Murphy as soon as possible. Every step she took was one step closer to seeing her child and for the first time in six years, she felt an emotion that was foreign to her. She actually felt happy. Annabelle MacManus was about to see her baby again.

 

***********

 

“What are you doing, Murph?” Connor asked, his voice dripping with concern as he watched his brother slide his knapsack to his hip before zipping it shut, almost as if he was preparing to leave. “You can draw some more if you want, I don’t mind. Or we can talk or just sit quietly. Whatever you want is fine by me.”

“I’m sorry,” Murphy mumbled, his eyes carefully avoiding Connor’s gaze as he slid a couple inches closer to the end of the leather seat. He felt an overwhelming need to run away and even though he didn’t understand why, he was so fucking scared. “I can’t stay. I know you think you know me but you don’t. And I don’t know you.”

Connor was surprised by Murphy’s reaction and he struggled to understand why his twin again denied their familial bond. It was obvious Murphy knew who he was, Connor saw it in his eyes and he felt it in his heart, but this went beyond confusion or fear. Murphy said everything was a blank but Connor didn’t understand how that was possible. They’re brothers. Murphy should remember him but for some reason, he just didn’t. And that hurt worse than anything.

“You’re my brother. My _twin_ brother. And you fucking know it, Murph,” Connor announced in no uncertain terms, hoping that his emphatic words would get through to his other half.

Murphy didn’t know what to do. He wanted to stay and talk to this boy, _his brother,_ but it hurt so much to know something is true but have no real memory of it. All Murphy had were flashes of a face from his childhood, a tow-headed ten year old boy that he knew was the teenager sitting across from him. Connor. But why the fuck couldn’t Murphy remember him?

“Don’t you want to see Ma?”

Murphy bit his lip as his eyes filled with tears and he lowered his head to hide his emotions from his twin. Yes, he wanted to see his ma but he couldn’t even picture her face. All he could envision was a shadow of a woman who would hug him and kiss him and make him feel safe.....and loved. He desperately pushed at the wall in his mind that separated him from the memory of his family and a slight whimper escaped his lips as the pain in his head increased to the point of intolerance. He lifted his hand and he pressed the heel of his palm into his forehead as the throbbing continued. Murphy knew that without his medicine, it wouldn’t be long before he got sick but he didn’t give a fuck. He had to remember his ma, he just had to.

“You’re trying too hard,” Connor gently said as he felt every ounce of pain along with his twin. He wanted to help Murphy but he didn’t know how, not realizing that his mere presence was more of a comfort than anything else on earth. “Once you relax, things will start to come back to you. Trust me, okay? It’s not gone forever.”

But what if it was gone forever? What then? What if Murphy never remembered the people who were important to him, the ones who truly cared?

“I.....I need to leave,” Murphy whispered as he slid to the end of his seat, his eyes still not meeting his brother’s stare. He wanted to see his ma so badly and he’d give anything to be with her but at the same time, he was afraid he’d hurt her. He had no idea how long they’d been apart......or why. He’s her son but he wouldn’t even recognize her face. And what if he said the wrong thing? No, it was better if he left before she got here. That way, he wouldn’t make her cry.

“Please. Don’t go. We’ve been looking for you for so long,” Connor said as his voice cracked with emotion. His plea sounded desperate to his own ears but he didn’t care how he came across, he was fighting for his twin. “I can’t take it if you leave me again. I just can’t.”

Murphy finally looked up and he was staggered by the love staring him square in the face. He might not remember very much but Connor did.

“I don’t want to hurt you. Or.....her,” Murphy quietly admitted and his brother visibly cringed when he couldn’t say the word ‘ma.’ The dark haired twin cleared his throat and gathered what little strength he had, telling himself that he was protecting them by leaving. “But I don’t remember either of you.”

Murphy stood up and he pulled his knapsack onto his shoulder as Connor stared incredulously at him from the solitude of the booth. Murphy’s head still pounded but since he stopped trying to remember, the pain had lessened a bit. “Tell your uncle I said thank you for the pizza. I’m sure it’s good but I just can’t eat anything right now. And thanks for the company. It was really nice talking with you.”

Murphy started to walk away and Connor slid from the booth, intent on stopping his twin before he disappeared once again. Connor knew the police were stationed outside and they’d keep a close eye on his brother but after being separated for so long, Connor wasn’t willing to relinquish Murphy’s well-being to anyone else.

Just as Murphy reached for the brass door handle to exit the pub, a woman burst through the entrance and both mother and son froze as they stared at each other.

Oh my God.....Ma. Murphy knew it the moment he set eyes on her. This woman is his ma.

Annabelle MacManus instantly recognized her son but she wasn’t prepared for what she saw.....the bruises, the knife marks, the terrified look in Murphy’s blue eyes as he rubbed his forehead. Jesus Christ, who did this to her child? Her baby was a shell of what he used to be, his trust had been beaten out of him, his happiness a distant memory and his childhood abolished with a sharp blade.

“Murphy. Oh, Murphy,” Annabelle said in a whisper as her eyes studied the abused state of her child. Her body shook with emotion as her instincts took over and she reached for her son, wanting to hold him and comfort him in a way only a mother can do.

At first, Annabelle thought Murphy would pull away from her and she prepared herself for this outcome. She understood why he might react this way, he looked so lost and scared, but still her heart shattered when he flinched ever so slightly as her hand finally made contact with his face. As she stroked his cheek with a mother’s love, he relaxed into her touch and his eyes filled with tears as he looked deeply into her gentle gaze.....and he remembered a tiny bit.

“Ma,” Murphy croaked as the emotional dam broke and tears poured down his cheeks. He lowered his head and practically collapsed into her arms, his face burying into her neck as he began to loudly wail from the pain of their forced separation.

She wrapped her arms around her son and pulled him close as Connor joined in the embrace, all three sobbing loudly as they held onto the youngest and most fragile family member. Annabelle took a shuddering breath and slowly released it through pursed lips in an attempt to not break down further as she rocked her children in her arms and listened to her baby cry. It was the most wonderful yet most painful experience combined into one. Annabelle was never happier in her life yet at the same time, the sound of her child’s agony nearly destroyed her.

Murphy clutched onto his mother and brother with every piece of energy he had, almost as if he was afraid they’d disappear if he let go. He snuffled loudly as he ignored the throbbing in his head, the pain growing as wave after wave crashed into his mind and threatened to break him. He still didn’t understand what was going on or why he couldn’t remember very much but one thing he knows with certainty.....this is his family.

“You’re home, Murphy. You’re finally home,” Annabelle said into her youngest son’s ear as his cries echoed in the pub. She surprised herself with her own strength as she focused on her child, her tears continuous as she softly instructed, “That’s it, luv. Let it out.”

Neither mother nor sons noticed the mass exodus of the bar patrons as Sibeal shepherded his customers out the door with a smile of gratitude for their understanding and discretion. Once the door was securely locked, he joined the detective in watching the family reunion as they waited for Murphy to gain some semblance of control.

Once the loud sobs changed to soft whimpers, Annabelle slid her hands to Murphy’s face and she lifted his head from her shoulder. She stared into her child’s eyes and she discovered things that both terrified and thrilled her. Murphy was completely exhausted yet there was still a profound fear in his gaze that no child should ever have. He looked dazed, almost as if he was in a trance, but she also saw love and realization staring back at her. And Annabelle recognized her little boy buried deep inside this traumatized teenager, her sweet little one who loved rabbits and giggled with his twin, her innocent baby who needed her now more than ever before.

She stroked his cheeks with her thumbs, carefully avoiding the bruised areas, before she leaned forward and began to kiss his head and face, over and over. Murphy closed his eyes as he felt the love emanating from her heart to his and tears leaked from behind his eyelashes, cutting a salty path down his face before his mother could wipe them away.

“Annabelle,” Detective Jennings softly interrupted, hating to disturb the scene before him but he took serious notice of how weak and chilled Murphy appeared.

Murphy jumped at the sound of the man’s deep voice and the family reunion took a backseat to the horror of his past as his eyes opened and darted to the detective watching him from over his mother’s shoulder. His first thought was that the detective was there to take him back to the house of horror, where the big man waited. Murphy started to violently shake as he pictured the glint of a sharp knife and the snapping sound of belt leather ripping his skin open. Fucking hell, he could almost hear the big man laughing over his own terrified screams.

“It’s okay. He’s a friend, Murphy,” Annabelle softly said as she tried to regain his attention without success. The anger and mistrust in Murphy’s eyes was palpable and he glared at the man as his mother vowed, “No one will ever hurt you again. Not as long as I’m alive.”

“Let’s get some warm clothes on your boy,” the detective suggested as he indicated the duffel bag that had been dropped on the floor. “Connor, why don’t you help your brother while I talk with your ma.”

Connor picked up the duffel bag and he took Murphy by the arm, a large smile forming on the older twin’s face when Murphy didn’t pull away or flinch. Once the boys were behind the closed door of their uncle’s office, Annabelle broke down and nearly collapsed to the floor. Detective Jennings rushed her into a chair as Sibeal brought her a glass of water and after a few moments, the resilient woman had somehow composed herself.

“We need to get him to a hospital, Annabelle,” the detective instructed as he prepared to advise her of his keen observations in regard to Murphy’s condition. He had watched their entire exchange from a professional perspective that was coupled with Sibeal’s observations from before their arrival and at minimum, Murphy was dehydrated and in desperate need of food and rest. But to the lawman, the young man’s condition appeared far more critical.

“Tell me,” Annabelle ordered as she braced herself for the sobering news.

Detective Jennings took a deep breath and he began to speak, sparing nothing. “Murphy moves like he has broken ribs and those knife cuts look terribly infected, especially the ones on his neck. I’m afraid he might also have some serious injuries we can’t see, which is why I think he kept that wet jacket on. But.....”

The words the detective spoke scared the living hell out of Annabelle but that pause was worse than all the previous words combined.

“But.....Annabelle, I’m fairly certain Murphy’s been heavily drugged.”


	17. Walter

“Uncle Sibeal always says he has no time to clean up back here,” Connor said with a nervous laugh as they entered the tiny office in the back of the pub. He kicked the door shut and moved across the room, placing the duffel bag on the worn leather couch and unzipping the top flap. “Ma says he’s too old to see the dirt but I think he’s just lazy. You probably don’t remember but he used to bribe us with sips of beer if we’d tidy up for him.”

Connor’s words paused as he turned to look at his twin, his steady gaze evaluating his brother in the way only he could do. He had hoped for a spark of remembrance or a flicker of familiarity but all Murphy did was politely smile and nod his head in response.

“That all stopped once Ma found out,” Connor continued with a soft sigh of defeat, his attention turning back to the duffel bag. He wanted to cry his eyes out, it just wasn’t fair that Murphy didn’t remember him or anything they shared, and Connor struggled to blink back his pain as he quietly added, “She said no child of hers would start drinking at age nine.”

Murphy wished he could remember the childhood memory that Connor described but all he knew was the burning pain of whip marks and the sting of infected knife wounds. His childhood wasn’t laughter and fun, there was no warmth or love.....there was only pain. As far back as Murphy could remember, his mind was filled with fear while his skin was riddled with bruises. Fucking hell, every molecule in his body hurt and all Murphy wanted was to remember something nice. Was that too much to ask?

He glanced around the messy area as Connor removed a variety of clothes from the duffel bag and draped them across the soft leather of the couch. The dark haired teenager felt like total shit for being the cause of that injured look in Connor’s eye and Murphy rubbed his forehead as he struggled to remember his twin.

“Maybe this will help,” Connor suggested as he turned toward his brother, his hand holding the tattered pictures from his nightstand that their ma had included with the clothes. He stared at those images every night since Murphy disappeared and even though they had faded with time and were wrinkled from years of falling teardrops, those photos still held the promise of a sibling bond yet to be revived. “But if you’re not ready yet.....”

“No, I want to see them,” Murphy quickly stated as he ignored the pounding of his head. He didn’t care if his head exploded, so long as he remembered Connor in the process.

Connor passed his brother the pictures and as their fingers touched, he felt the nervous tremble of Murphy’s hand that caused both boys to momentarily pause. Murphy looked away as he withdrew his hand and Connor watched his twin study the image from his first day of school, Murphy’s blue eyes taking in every detail while his face reflected a myriad of emotion.

“This is our house,” Murphy said in a hushed voice, his matter-of-fact manner surprising Connor.

“Yeah, Murph,” Connor confirmed with a wide smile and an encouraging nod of his head. His eyes glistened with happy tears yet to be shed as he softly added, “You remember.”

“No, I don’t,” Murphy instantly corrected as he looked up to catch his brother’s eyes, his own gaze apologetic. “It’s more something I know, not something I remember.”

“Oh.”

“I’m sorry, Connor. I’m trying, I really am.”

Connor tried to respond but he knew better than to speak, he’d surely cry if he uttered any further words so instead of talking, he merely gestured to the remaining photos.

Murphy wasn’t prepared to confront his past and as he flipped to the next snapshot, his body started to violently shake. He recognized a younger version of himself with the boy he had drawn millions of times, he’d know his face anywhere. The boy was just how Murphy pictured his imaginary brother, right down to the raised eyebrow and lopsided smirk. He could almost hear Connor’s teasing voice echoing through time and Murphy felt his brother’s distinct presence as they stood side by side, both now and eight years earlier.

Murphy’s eyes welled up with tears and there was a sudden surge of emotion that stirred within the darker twin’s heart, almost as if there was a silken thread that connected them together, a delicate yet enduring link that couldn’t be denied.

He slowly flipped through the photos as Connor kept a close eye on his younger half, seeing a full range of emotion spread across Murphy’s face.....shock, confusion, denial, sadness. Connor remained silent as his brother studied the pictures and attempted to come to grips with what he was seeing. It was painfully difficult to watch Murphy struggle and not help him but at the same time, Connor knew Murphy had to figure this out in his own head first.

The final photograph was an image of a smiling Annabelle bending over the twins as they blew out candles on a birthday cake..... _Happy 10th birthday Connor and Murphy._ Their young faces reflected the pure joy a child has on his special day and Annabelle beamed with pride, her love apparent even on film.

Murphy remembered this.....he remembered this day, this birthday..... _them._

He dropped the pictures to the floor like they were on fire and Murphy took an instinctive step backward as they fanned out on the carpet, a slight whimper escaping his lips as he tried not to cry.

“It’s okay. You didn’t hurt anything,” Connor said as gently as he could, not realizing his brother was overwhelmed with a sudden returning memory. He squatted and gathered the photos, straightening them before standing once again. “See? They’re fine.”

Murphy lowered his head as tears threatened to escape. He tried to distract himself by playing with the button on his jacket, he pulled and twisted it in an attempt to rip it free but when Connor softly called his name, he lost what little control he had. Tears ran down Murphy’s cheeks and he reached up to wipe his face with his sleeve, not looking at anything but the floor.

“What happened to me, Connor?”

Hearing the agonized sound of Murphy’s voice nearly brought Connor to his knees and as much as he wanted to avoid answering that question, he’d never deny his brother the truth. Murphy had a right to know.

“Someone took you from us. You were only ten when you disappeared, Murph. We don’t know what happened to you or why you can’t remember us.....”

“I remember that birthday,” Murphy whispered, his quiet words holding the sorrow of a traumatized child as his mind grabbed onto that meaningful moment in his life. “And I remember _you_ on that day. You told ma you didn’t want a present for yourself because.....because you wanted me to have that pet rabbit I asked for instead.”

“Yeah, you loved rabbits. You wanted one for the longest time,” Connor confirmed with a sad smile, his voice cracking with emotion as he glanced at the duffel bag that still contained his brother’s stuffed toy. He debated whether he should let Murphy see Walter but as his brother took a shuddering breath, Connor decided to trust his instincts and leave the toy hidden at the bottom of the bag.

“I don’t remember any rabbit though,” Murphy said with a sniff and another wipe at his face. He pushed himself to remember the gift his brother had insisted he have, the pet that would have meant the world to him because of Connor’s sacrifice, but the dark haired boy was at a complete loss. While he was happy to finally remember an actual moment from his past, his heart ached for what he still couldn’t retrieve. Murphy wanted to recall every second of every moment with Connor and he’d walk through fire to make it happen. Murphy grimaced as he wrestled with his memory and his face contorted as throbbing pain again took up residence. “I should remember a rabbit. I should.”

“Murph. There was no rabbit,” Connor said with a soft sigh, his own heart tightening painfully with this confession. He explained in a soothing voice how their ma had to save to get a proper pen and all the things a beloved MacManus pet would need. She had insisted on finding a grey rabbit, just like Murphy asked for, but by the time the perfect bunny was located and everything was in place, things had changed and Murphy was gone.

Murphy nodded his head as he listened to his brother, finally understanding a bit of his confused history. He tried to quiet the hundreds of questions whirling through his mind but the more he attempted to ignore them, the louder they screamed. The twins stood in awkward silence for a few moments as Murphy shifted from foot to foot, not knowing how to ask for the answers he desperately needed.

“Ma will kill me if I don’t get you into some warmer clothes,” Connor announced, finally breaking the silence after realizing Murphy’s shaking wasn’t strictly from emotion. “You should wear the sweatshirt, it’s the warmest, and she also packed a hoodie so you don’t have to keep that wet jean jacket on.”

“Thanks,” Murphy mumbled as his eyes darted between his brother’s face and the door, silently pleading for him to leave. He couldn’t change his clothes in front of Connor, he just couldn’t. The belt marks were too fresh and the knife cuts too deep to be dismissed. Even the darkness of Murphy’s bruises wouldn’t disguise his years of abuse, the scars were obvious beneath his discolored skin. “You can wait outside for me. I won’t be long.”

Ten minutes later, Murphy sheepishly emerged from the office and he made his way toward his waiting family. He felt their eyes on him, studying him, and he attempted to move as if he had no injuries or pain. At first, he was certain he fooled them.....after all, he was used to hiding his wounds and the clothing covered his most egregious injuries. But as he met their concerned gaze, their eyes told a different story. They knew what Murphy hid beneath his baggy clothes. They fucking knew.

Annabelle wiped a stray tear from her cheek as she watched her baby approach. Murphy seemed particularly vulnerable and extraordinarily scared yet at the same time, she recognized an inner strength that both twins possessed. Connor’s clothes were far too big for the younger twin’s thin frame and as Murphy grew closer, the collar of his sweatshirt shifted and more of the dark purple bruises of his abuse became apparent.

Annabelle reached out and blindly found Connor’s arm and she held tight to her firstborn in an attempt to control her reaction, her oldest son grounding her in the present while her youngest sons past broke her heart. She thought the bruises on Murphy’s face were horrific but these newly exposed blemishes were even darker and she could no longer deny what she already knew. Those animals abused her little boy and there was nothing she could do to fix it, not one goddamn thing.

“Where’s my knapsack?” Murphy asked in a panic as his eyes frantically darted around the pub. He had left his treasured Connor sketches unguarded.....how could he have been so fucking stupid? He hid them for years from the big man, he took ruthless beatings in order to keep them safe and now they were gone. Just like that.....gone.

“I have your stuff, Murph,” Connor announced, confusion coloring his reaction. He didn’t understand the importance of those sketches or how many drawings the knapsack contained. Each drawing was a labor of love, they kept Connor alive in Murphy’s mind and they sustained Murphy during his darkest moments. Simply put, those sketches not only helped Murphy survive, they helped bring him home. “I’d never let anything happen to your things. Not ever.”

Murphy held his knapsack close to his chest for the entire ride to the hospital, his sole possession comforting him as he stared out the window at the hometown he no longer knew. He was so fucking tired and all he wanted was for the pain to stop.....pain not only in his head, but in his heart. The detective ushered them into a private exam room upon arrival where Murphy instantly gravitated toward the far wall, his eyes avoiding all contact as a nurse brusquely shoved paperwork at Annabelle for her signed consent.

“Sit down here, young man, and roll up your sleeve,” the woman in white commanded as she slid a cart toward a padded table, her no-nonsense manner accurately conveying her lack of empathy. “The doctor ordered a stat toxicology screen so I need to draw some blood.”

She began labeling thin tubes with her patient’s name as Murphy kicked at a spot on the wall, ignoring the woman while seemingly intent on creating a hole with his sneaker. He moved from foot to foot, alternating his kicks as he stared at his feet, all while hugging his knapsack tight in his arms.

The dark haired twin tried to calm his nerves but he couldn’t stop shaking once he realized the detective didn’t abandon his investigation, he merely paused for Murphy’s medical clearance. Murphy knew that soon he’d be asked a million questions but he didn’t know how to respond. And he didn’t know why but he was so fucking scared.....the kind of white knuckled fear a person experiences when cornered and helpless, unable to extricate themselves from a precarious situation. Murphy felt like a trapped animal with nowhere to run. He tried to think of something else, _anything_ else really, when his mother’s voice finally pierced through the dark cloud of his anxiety.

“Murphy, luv,” Annabelle tenderly called out in an attempt to gain his attention. Her heart was heavy as she watched her child and even though Murphy was kicking the wall, she knew her son wasn’t angry. He was overwhelmed.

Murphy paused mid-kick and he lowered his foot to the floor before slowly turning in the direction of that familiar voice. Mother and son stared at each other for a few moments before Murphy shifted his gaze to Connor, his eyes focusing on his sibling as his fingers dug into his canvas knapsack. It was the strangest feeling to be wanted by people he barely remembered and to see unconditional acceptance and love in both their eyes. It didn’t feel normal to the traumatized teenager, Murphy felt completely undeserving, and he looked away from their warmth with a feeling of shame.

The nurse again called him over and this time, Murphy obeyed her directive. He carefully lifted himself onto the padded table and shifted his knapsack into the crook of his left arm, attempting to block any view his family might have. Murphy stared at the floor as he pushed up his sleeve, knowing what the nurse would find without having to see it again himself.

The nurse paused and briefly looked at the detective before turning her attention back to her young patient and her sudden change in demeanor fueled Annabelle’s concern. The woman’s caustic tone had become kind and soothing as she explained step-by-step what she was doing. She apologized for the pain from the needle and she cared for Murphy with a gentleness that wasn’t previously on display.

Murphy was blinking rapidly, almost as if he was fighting back tears, and his leg bounced up and down in a sporadic rhythm as the nurse began filling vials with his blood. Annabelle leaned forward and she strained to see past the knapsack, her eyes eventually settling on the bruised and burned forearm of her 16 year old son.

She never expected to witness such a horrendous thing, to see her baby’s skin covered with dozens of round burns and finger shaped bruises. It was painfully obvious what happened to her son, no one needed to tell her.....the story was burned into her child’s flesh. Murphy was held down while someone burned him with a cigar. Repeatedly. My God, who the fuck would do that to a child? Annabelle’s hand went to her mouth and she took a shuddering breath, wondering what else Murphy had endured during his long absence. Her rage threatened to consume her and the only thing tempering it was her motherly need to help her child heal. Murphy’s well-being came first.

“There you go, all done,” the nurse said quietly as she pressed a cotton ball to Murphy’s skin, his fingers replacing hers as he shifted in his seat. His eyes caught sight of the puckered burns on his arm and he quickly looked away, remembering the searing pain that was his punishment for.....for.....fuck, did it even matter?

Once a band-aid was in place, Murphy hastily pulled down his sleeve to hide the ugliness from his family. He knew they’d eventually find out what the big man did to him but Murphy didn’t want to be the one to tell them.....or show them. He didn’t want to see disgust in their eyes. Or pity. Or even worse, Murphy didn’t want them to turn away from him. Deep down, he knew they’d never desert him but what if.....what if he was wrong? What if the big man was right and he was nothing but a worthless little fuck?

Connor felt his brother’s turmoil from across the room as Murphy surrendered to the belittlement he’d grown to believe. Years of disparaging remarks had crushed Murphy’s spirit and taken their toll on his psyche, his self-worth destroyed long ago by a sadistic fucker in a root cellar.

“I have something for you, Murph,” Connor announced once the nurse exited the room. He didn’t know specifically what plagued his baby brother but his instincts told him what Murphy needed to feel secure again. It might seem silly to some people and childish to others but sometimes the simplest thing can remind a person that they’re loved. “I took good care of him while you were gone. And I talked to him every day, just like you used to do.”

Murphy had no idea what Connor was talking about and he watched in silence as his brother unzipped the duffel bag and reached deep inside. Something fuzzy and grey was pulled out and Connor’s eyes sparkled as his fingers brushed through the plush fur and straightened the floppy ears. Finally, once the grooming was complete, he turned it toward his twin and held it up for Murphy’s inspection.

“It’s okay if you don’t remember him. But.....he used to be really important to you. So that made him important to me,” Connor softly said as he stepped forward and handed the stuffed animal to his sibling.

Murphy stared at the toy rabbit for a few moments before gently shaking it to wiggle its ears, a slight smile forming on his face as a memory filtered into his mind. Connor gave him this when they were seven. He used every coin in his piggy bank to buy it, too. Murphy’s thumb rubbed over a bare spot on its belly as he struggled to remember its name, the pounding in his head increasing exponentially with his efforts. He furrowed his brow as a fragment of memory returned like a bolt of lightning and Murphy frantically turned the toy over to examine the base of the rabbit’s left ear.

My God, there it is. Dark blue thread in a criss-cross pattern where Connor had mended the toy after its ear got caught in a swing. Murphy bit his lip as he blinked back emotional tears, remembering how much he used to love this stupid fucking stuffed animal. It was the best gift he’d ever received, bar none. And it came from Connor. With a slight laugh, Murphy realized this gift from his brother is what started his love for rabbits all those years ago.

Murphy held tight to the toy as Connor watched and waited, hoping and praying that Murphy would recognize this important piece of their childhood. He told himself it was only a matter of time before Murphy’s memory returned but with each forgotten experience, it seemed more likely that everything was gone. Connor didn’t know what he’d do if Murphy never remembered anything more, other than cry for days and be heartbroken for life. It just wasn’t fair to have Murphy return home with barely any of his memories intact. It wasn’t fair at all.

As if sensing his brother’s sudden anxiety, Murphy looked up and he stared into matching blue eyes, both boys staggered by the connection they felt flowing between them. That intense look on Murphy’s face obliterated Connor’s fear and it reestablished their unique bond while at the same time, it told him everything he needed to know without Murphy uttering a single word.

“You remember him.”

With a quiet sniff and a slight nod of his head, Murphy said the words that made Connor cry with happiness.

“It’s Walter.”


	18. Something's Wrong

It was twenty-three steps from wall to wall as Connor MacManus paced the length of the hospital waiting room. He counted those twenty-three steps for the millionth time while his mother watched him from the solitude of a sturdy vinyl chair, her eyes only leaving her son to glance intermittently at the clock above the nurse’s station.

Three hours had passed since they last saw Murphy in that exam room, wide-eyed and clutching Walter in a tight grip as the nurse handed him a hospital gown and told him to undress. It’s been 180 minutes since they left him alone with a doctor and a police photographer, one professional to examine Murphy’s injuries and the other to document those same wounds on film. 10,800 second-hand ticks have occurred since their separation and Annabelle was still haunted by the look on her child’s bruised face as Murphy’s expression told her that he wanted them to stay but he _needed_ them to go.

She sighed quietly as she struggled against the dark thoughts inhabiting her brain, imagining the most heinous acts committed against her child. She used to wonder if Murphy cried himself to sleep, if he was hungry or cold, if he was hurt. Now she knew the answer to those questions. He hadn’t been with people who loved him, no one kissed away his tears and she couldn’t help but wonder when he last had a decent meal. Murphy had left childhood and entered his teen years with bruises and broken bones, not from football or rough housing with Connor, but brutal injuries from fists.

Her shaking hand wiped the tears from her face as she took a cleansing breath and vowed to remain strong. Murphy is alive. And tonight he’ll be home, sleeping in his own bed in the room he shares with his brother. He’s safe. That’s what matters most now.

“This is bullshit,” Connor angrily announced as he turned on his heel and walked toward the far wall. It felt wrong leaving his brother alone to endure a humiliating exam but when Connor begged and pleaded to stay, his dark haired twin merely shook his head and took a reactive step backward. So instead of holding Murphy’s hand during a probing medical evaluation, in place of being by his twin’s side with encouraging words of support, Connor was relegated to anxious pacing in an attempt to channel his growing anxiety. He reluctantly abided by his brother’s decision.

Deep in their hearts, both mother and son knew the cold hard truth. They knew exactly why Murphy didn’t want them in that room. It wasn’t due to modesty or an effort to put on a brave face. It wasn’t even because he’s 16 and embarrassed by the attention and fuss over his well-being. The dip of Murphy’s head and the diverting of pale blue eyes conveyed his thoughts loud and clear. He was ashamed. And in his own strange way, Murphy was protecting his family from the shame of his abuse the only way he knew how.....by sending them away.

“We should be in there with him, Ma,” Connor huffed as he completed another lap across the tiled floor. He pushed down his desperate desire to go screaming for his brother, his need to just look his twin in the eyes and make sure he’s safe. The police had warned them to go slow and to give Murphy time to adjust but Connor knew, _he fucking knew,_ his brother needed him. “I never should have left him alone.”

Guilt is a heavy burden and Annabelle wondered if Connor was referring to 3 hours ago or 6 years ago, when he’d left Murphy alone on the playground the day he disappeared. Through the years she tried to ease the conflict raging within her oldest child but his self-blame only grew with time and drowned out any words of comfort she spoke. Try as she might, Annabelle’s words fell on deaf ears.

Detective Jennings interrupted her thoughts when he suggested that Connor try to relax and read a magazine, or perhaps watch some TV, but Annabelle responded with a quiet “Let him be.” She had abandoned her own attempts to coax Connor to sit down and be patient, knowing that until her boys were reunited, Connor needed an outlet for his nervous energy. She let her son pace, complain and curse at will, completely understanding his inability to control the emotional outbursts associated with another forced separation.

They received regular updates from the nurse as she assured them that Murphy was doing fine, her words gentle and kind yet far too vague to satisfy concerned hearts. She told them when the police photographer had finished and what medical tests Murphy was undergoing, keeping them informed as much as possible while alleviating none of their fear. It was incredibly difficult to be given only a crumb of information and each passing moment felt like an eternity while mother and son waited for news on their most fragile family member.

“How is he?” Annabelle asked, rising to her feet when the doctor finally joined them in the waiting room. Connor was by her side in the blink of an eye, ready to make his way back to his twin, but the medical practitioner halted his movement before the teenager took a single step.

They listened carefully as the doctor discussed cracked ribs and bruised organs, old fractures that were never set properly and the loss of hearing in Murphy’s left ear from being repeatedly hit in the head. Their eyes filled with bitter tears at the description of the belt marks across Murphy’s back and the badly infected knife wounds that riddled his body, some so deep that stitches were required. And when the doctor spoke of toxic levels of a drug neither MacManus had ever heard of, a black-market hybrid dangerous enough to cause death, both mother and son nearly collapsed to the floor.

“My God,” Annabelle mumbled as she covered her mouth with her hand, her eyes closing momentarily in an attempt to erase the situation from existence. Her son’s injuries were far worse than she imagined and a sudden feeling of panic gripped her heart as she realized just how close they came to losing Murphy forever.

“His prognosis is good, Annabelle,” the doctor gently said as he placed his hand on her shoulder, his fingers giving a firm squeeze. He waited for the woman to reopen her eyes and give a nod of her head before he continued, his words honest yet full of compassion. “We’re dealing with the most serious issues first, namely the toxicity of the drug and any potential liver damage, but down the road we’ll need to re-break Murphy’s wrist and four of his fingers. He’ll also need a temporary brace for his right leg to help straighten it and hopefully avoid surgery. Now I know it sounds bad but all things considered, your son is doing quite well.”

Connor held his breath as he stood in shocked silence, his thoughts consumed with his brother’s health. Murphy’s bruises will fade and his cuts will heal. Broken bones will mend. They knew the physical toll of Murphy’s disappearance but the mental and emotional repercussions had yet to be fully realized. And that scared the living fuck out of Connor.

“What.....what are,” Annabelle struggled to keep her composure as her voice faltered. She had a ton of questions and a mountain of concern but three questions pushed to the forefront of her brain and demanded answers. She cleared her throat and tried again, holding back the floodgate of emotion as her words suddenly became clear. “What are the long term effects of that drug? Is my son in any pain? Will Murphy _ever_ remember us completely?”

The physician’s response was less than soothing and he offered no real answers, strictly because he had none. He tried to be positive and supportive, saying it’s a good sign Murphy remembered Walter, but he honestly didn’t know if Murphy would ever remember anything more. The unpredictable nature of the drug he’d been given made it impossible to predict the young twin’s outcome.

“I promise you, we’re doing everything we can.”

“Can we see him?” Connor asked in a voice strangled by fear and desperation. Other than the day Murphy disappeared, he’d never been so scared in his life. “Please?”

“Not just yet. Let’s give the pain medication time to work first, all right?”

Connor was about to argue and his mouth opened to sound an objection but Annabelle’s soft touch on his arm stopped his protest before it could begin. She offered no words, no admonishment and absolutely no judgment as she instinctively calmed her son’s restless spirit. She gave Connor strength with her presence, understanding in the look of her eyes and a mother’s unending love from her heart. As the doctor departed, mother and son hugged each other tightly and clung to the hope that the worst was over.

*****

“Ma? What’s a code blue?”

Ten minutes had passed since the doctor left them alone to wait and worry, their prayers interrupted by the repeated announcement over the loudspeaker of a code blue in trauma room two.

Annabelle tucked her worn rosary beads into her pocket as she explained that a code blue was a medical emergency of some sort, possibly a heart issue or someone stopped breathing. By calling the code over the intercom, it alerted the staff that someone was in serious trouble and needed immediate medical intervention.

Her brow furrowed as she studied her firstborn in outright confusion, not understanding his reaction to her explanation. She had expected Connor to ask questions or possibly suggest they pray for whoever was facing the crisis but instead, his eyes rapidly filled with tears and he began rocking in his seat.

“Ma. Oh God, Ma,” Connor croaked as the color drained from his face.

He knew something was wrong before that code was called but he had dismissed it as needless worry, telling himself he was being too sensitive and overprotective. But now the stirring deep in Connor’s soul could no longer be ignored as the connection with his twin shuddered and shook, straining it to its limit as it nearly broke apart. He took a deep breath and spoke with certainty even though his voice could barely be heard, “It’s Murph.”

Those two words sent a chill through Annabelle’s body, almost as if a frigid December wind suddenly blew through the room. “What do you mean, ‘it’s Murph’? What are you saying?” She leaned forward in an attempt to hear her son’s whispered response and she covered his hand with her own, trying to stay calm for her children.

“Murphy’s in trauma room two,” Connor softly explained as tears overflowed his eyes and ran down his cheeks in long salty streaks. “He was afraid I’d forget where he was.....I told him I’d remember his room number because we’re twins. Two of us, trauma room two. It was easy to remember.”

Annabelle paused for only a moment as Connor’s explanation filtered through her mind, her terror blazing back to life with renewed ferocity. She was suddenly on her feet and racing down the hall, not previously knowing her son’s room number but remembering its location. She heard Connor’s feet behind her keeping pace as they  
rounded the nurse’s station and headed toward the closed door at the end of the corridor. The closed door with the number 2 on it.

Mother and son skidded to a halt just as a nurse rushed into Murphy’s room from the other direction, steering a cart loaded heavy with medical supplies in front of her. In her haste, she neglected to push the door shut and even though Connor’s mind screamed at him to turn back, his heart propelled him onward and he crossed over the threshold that separated him from his darker half.

That’s when time didn’t just slow to a near crawl, it completely fucking stopped. Connor MacManus stood watching the very worst thing he’d ever seen in his 16 years of life. His baby brother, his twin..... _Murph_.....was lying unresponsive on the floor, his body jerking wildly as a small pool of blood formed beneath his head. Doctors and nurses alike knelt around the teenager, attempting to keep Murphy from further injury as strange gurgling sounds emanated from his throat.

“He’s starting to choke,” one doctor announced, prompting the staff into a frenzy of activity as they hurriedly rolled Murphy onto his side to allow gravity to clear his airway.

Connor didn’t notice Annabelle placing her arm around his shoulder to comfort him; he was far too consumed with his brother to notice anything else on the planet. He’d never felt so helpless in his life, not ever. Even when Murphy first disappeared, Connor could still take steps to find him and bring him home. He could do things to make a difference. But this.....Connor couldn’t do anything to stop what he was witnessing. Not one goddamn thing. All Connor could do was pray as he watched the most important person in his life struggle to breathe.

“Get the family out of here,” a doctor barked loudly when he caught sight of the wide-eyed duo, his attention immediately turning back to his convulsing patient as he relied on the nurse to carry out his order.

“No,” Connor moaned as a nurse took him by the arm and attempted to lead him from the room, his near panic on full display. “No, I can’t leave Murph. I can’t.”

The woman moved to stand directly in front of the young man, nearly blocking Connor’s view of his twin as she gently but firmly stated, “You need to let us help Murphy. We can’t help him if we have to worry about you, too.”

Annabelle held Connor’s hand as he slowly backed away, his eyes glued to Murphy’s ashen face as he accepted what he already knew. There was nothing he could do to help. If he stayed, he’d just get in the way or be a distraction that might hinder Murphy’s care. And Connor would never do anything that would hurt Murph.

They were led out of the trauma room amid promises to notify them once Murphy was stabilized, the rattling sound of his labored breathing following them down the hall. The return to the waiting area was met with the immediate upheaval of Connor’s lunch as he wept uncontrollably into the garbage can, not giving a fuck who witnessed his breakdown.

Annabelle rubbed her son’s back as she quietly explained the situation to Detective Jennings, her words punctuated with shuddering breaths and uncontrollable tears. “Murphy started choking, Ron. He.....he made such horrible sounds, you have no idea.”

“What’s wrong with him, Ma? What the fuck happened?” Connor wailed as fear gripped every molecule in his body. He turned toward his mother and without waiting for an answer, he buried his face into her neck, wetting the collar of Annabelle’s dress with his misery.

She held her son in her arms, rocking him like she used to do when he was a baby, and she closed her eyes in prayer when their bodies stilled. They stayed like this for nearly 20 minutes, barely moving, until the soft whisper of their names cut into the silence and they lifted their heads in unison to meet the steady gaze of the doctor.

“Murphy is fine. He had a seizure but he’s awake now,” the physician reported as he sat in a chair directly across from the pair and prepared himself for the many questions that would certainly follow.

“That was a seizure? It seemed to last forever.”

“That’s because it was a cluster of seizures, one after the other. Four in total, I believe.”

“Four? Murphy had _four_ seizures?” Annabelle whispered, her ever-present fear adding to the shock of the moment. She looked to the doctor for some type of clarification as she asked, “What could have caused that?”

“Well, it could be any number of things.”

The doctor recognized the confusion and terror in their eyes as he gently pointed out that Murphy had been through an incredibly violent ordeal in the past six years, which included repeated head trauma. He was also severely dehydrated and malnourished and his recent efforts to remember likely caused extreme stress. Although rare, these factors could have combined to cause a stress induced seizure.

“I saw blood, doctor. Why was my boy bleeding?” Annabelle asked as she braced herself for the answer.

Her sigh of relief was audible as the medicine man explained that Murphy hit his head when he fell to the floor but the injury was actually of little concern. “Head wounds always bleed a lot. He needed a couple of stitches and he’ll probably have a headache but it really wasn’t as bad as it looked.”

Those words prompted a realization in Connor’s mind and something he had dismissed as inconsequential now seemed extremely important.

“Murph had a real bad headache at the pub. He was rubbing his forehead a lot,” Connor reported as the doctor turned his attention to the light haired boy, listening intently. “It seemed to get worse the more he tried to remember. I wanted to get him some aspirin but he said it wouldn’t help.”

“He was right. Aspirin wouldn’t have helped,” the doctor said matter-of-factly as he scanned an updated toxicology report the nurse handed him moments earlier. The new information provided by Connor, combined with the bloodwork results, gave the doctor insight into his young patient’s condition and he stunned both mother and son with his analysis. “Murphy is going through drug withdrawal. Severe headaches and seizures are two common symptoms.”

Their mouths briefly hung open in response to the physician’s report, unable to form a single word. Mother and son recovered in the same instant and the torrent of questions began, their words rapid and overlapping with the doctor unable to understand either MacManus.

The physician remained patient with Murphy’s family, allowing them to accept the situation at their own pace once calm was restored. His manner was gentle and unrushed as he explained that Murphy was being admitted and further testing would be done in the morning, after the boy rested. And he was completely honest, advising them that he ordered a series of injections of a synthetic drug that would mimic the hybrid mixture Murphy had in his bloodstream.

“It’s the safest option right now, Annabelle,” the doctor quietly said, the seriousness of the situation conveyed with that simple statement. She nodded in understanding, realizing that an abrupt withdrawal was far more dangerous to her child than any pharmaceutical substitute.

“Your brother is asking for you, young man.”

For a moment, Connor thought he heard wrong. But then he looked into the eyes of his brother’s caregiver and he instantly felt safe and strangely confident, almost as if this man could fix anything at all. Connor rubbed his sleeve across his eyes to clear his vision and he squeaked out one solitary word, “Really?”

The doctor laughed quietly, leaning forward as he said, “Yes, son. In fact, your name was the first thing he said when he woke up.”

The next few minutes dragged by at a snail’s pace as they thanked the doctor and said goodbye to the detective. They relaxed just a tiny bit after learning an officer was stationed outside of Murphy’s room and any questioning would be delayed until morning. And together they rode the elevator to the seventh floor in utter silence, both mother and son completely overwhelmed as they made their way down the hall toward the room where Murphy was spending the night.

Connor was first to enter Room 718 and he paused just inside the doorway, his eyes unblinking as he studied the motionless figure with the raven locks of hair. He’d been told Murphy had an IV and heart monitor, he knew the seizures would have exhausted his twin and Connor fully expected to see his brother sleeping in the hospital bed. But what he didn’t expect to see was how small Murphy looked.

The young twin was lying on his side, curled up in a fetal position with a blanket wrapped tightly around his body. His eyes were closed and his rhythmic breaths were a welcome sound to his family but God Almighty, the bed seemed to practically swallow Murphy whole.

“Come on, luv,” Annabelle whispered softly, encouraging her oldest son to move toward her youngest. Connor didn’t hesitate, he walked quickly but silently toward his brother’s bedside as his mother followed suit.

“He’s so thin, Ma,” Connor said through tear filled eyes, biting his lip to stop it from quivering. Now that Murphy wasn’t hiding beneath heavy layers of clothes, his slight frame was obvious, even through the thick cotton blanket. “My God, look at him. He’s so fucking thin.”

“We’ll fatten him up once we get him home, don’t you worry.”

Connor nodded in response, mostly from habit rather than agreement. He remembered how difficult it was to get Murphy to eat sometimes but even at his most stubborn defiance, he’d never been this thin.

Annabelle reached forward and she tenderly stroked Murphy’s hair, pushing it from his forehead and inadvertently exposing the fresh bruise, dried blood and stitches along his hairline. She paused in shock with his hair still between her fingers.....she forgot that’s where Murphy hit his head when the seizure started.

“He’ll be fine, Ma. Trust me on this, okay?”

It was Connor’s turn to encourage his mother to be strong and even though her eyes lingered on her injured child, she smiled in response to her oldest son’s words. She stroked Murphy’s hair once more before bending forward to kiss him as gently as possible on his cheek.

Murphy’s eyes fluttered open and he struggled to focus on the faces above him, his brow furrowing in confusion as he tried to squirm away. For a few terrifying moments, the horror from the past six years took root and he braced himself for bone crushing abuse.

“It’s us, Murph,” Connor quickly said, instinctively grasping his brother’s hand before he could slide further away. “It’s Ma and Conn.”

The look of fear changed to relief as Murphy’s vision cleared and recognition set in. His smile was weak but sincere as he admitted, “I thought you were a dream.”

“No fucking way,” Connor said, squeezing his brother’s hand to emphasize his point. “See? We’re real.”

“Are you taking me home now?”

Annabelle’s heart broke as Murphy looked hopefully into her eyes and waited for her answer, his face quickly reflecting the realization that she was about to tell him no. By the time her explanation began, he’d already looked away and even though he tried to appear indifferent, she knew otherwise.

“Okay,” Murphy quietly said when she was done speaking, that one softly spoken word shredding Annabelle to pieces. Her child sounded defeated, lost and alone. He chewed on his bottom lip for a moment before asking, “Will I see you tomorrow?”

“Murph,” Connor began, shaking his brother’s hand gently but firmly to gain his attention. “Just because you have to stay doesn’t mean we’re leaving you. We’re staying too.”

This caught Murphy’s interest and he appeared surprised by his brother’s words, almost as if it was the last thing he ever expected to hear. “You don’t have to.”

“We’re staying,” Connor said adamantly, not relenting in the least. “And tough shit if you don’t like it.”

The corners of Murphy’s lips rose slightly, barely noticeable to someone not paying attention but Connor saw. They locked eyes and Connor grinned back, his own gaze steady and full of understanding as he communicated wordlessly with his twin.

Annabelle watched the silent exchange between her children and she’d never been prouder in her life. Her boys were incredibly close when they were young and it was heartwarming to see a spark of that familiarity return. She quietly excused herself, mumbling something about getting coffee and using the restroom, but her sons knew the truth.

“I guess Ma thinks we need to talk,” Connor said with a raised eyebrow and a slightly amused tone. “Little does she know, I’m about to tell you all kinds of family secrets. Deep, dark secrets. Like how her homemade apple pie isn’t homemade at all. She gets it from the Parade Street Market.”

Murphy’s smile was genuine as he suppressed a small laugh. Even though he didn’t remember this secret, or even the market for that matter, it just felt good listening to Connor talk. He was animated and funny as fuck as he went on and on about how no one knew this family secret except them. Even their ma didn’t know they knew.

“That’s what makes it the best secret of all. It’s only ours.”

“Only ours,” Murphy softly repeated with a nod of his head as he shifted on the mattress, seemingly lost in thought. Connor could tell his brother was working up to something and he gave him a few moments to voice his thoughts but when Murphy remained silent, Connor spoke.

“When we were little and you were scared of something, we’d sleep in the same bed. Sometimes mine, sometimes yours. You might not remember but.....it helped, Murph.”

“I’m not a baby, Connor,” Murphy said a bit defensively, sounding just like he did on the playground that fateful day when they were ten.

Connor pushed down the panic from that awful memory as he toed off his sneakers and moved to the empty side of Murphy’s bed, lifting the blanket as he climbed onto the mattress behind his twin. “No, you’re not a baby. But you are scared.”

He relied on his instincts as Murphy watched him from over his shoulder and Connor was actually surprised his brother didn’t object further but instead seemed to melt into his sheltering embrace.

“I’ll be here with you all night. Keeping you safe,” Connor vowed, hoping to God his twin would trust him and let him help. “That’s what brothers do, Murph.”

“Okay,” Murphy quietly relented, relaxing more than he ever thought possible. He barely remembered his brother but in his heart he knew Connor meant every word he said. And right here, right now, Murphy never felt safer or more protected in his life. “Thanks, Conn.”

When Annabelle returned to her son’s room, she was greeted with a sight that warmed her to the core. In her sleeping children, she saw the love of family as her oldest wrapped her youngest in a protective cocoon. She recognized that invisible yet unbreakable bond her children shared as they breathed in perfect synchronicity. And deep in her heart, she knew her boys would do everything in their power to regain all they had lost over the past six years.

Annabelle MacManus kissed her boys gently on their heads before settling into a chair to watch her children sleep, knowing that at least for tonight, her babies were safe.

*****

“Why would he go there? He can’t possibly remember _them,”_ the woman said in a jealous rage as she slammed the cupboard door shut with a loud bang. She gazed down at the small bottle in her hand, her critical eye studying the amber liquid before shaking it almost violently and watching the concoction bubble to the top. “You promised me this would make him forget. You said it would work.”

“It did work. For six years it worked.”

She was strangely calm as she listened to the big man explain that the drug would work again, they just had to give a higher dose to the boy. He was convincing when he told her that everything could be just like it was before, once the child was taught to obey. And he told her they had nothing to fear from the law, seeing as Murphy obviously knew his place.

The big man stood up and adjusted his belt, tapping his foot impatiently while waiting for the woman to make her decision. His skin practically tingled with excitement, he couldn’t wait to get his hands on that defiant little fucker and teach him a lesson he’d never forget. He’d make Murphy regret his very existence.

The woman turned toward the big man, her eyes narrowed with determination as a strange smile formed on her face. She was convinced her decision was correct and she didn’t falter with her command.

“Bring him back.”


End file.
